Heart of the Myth
by Amarynthis
Summary: There's a fine line between genius and insanity. Paul just threw Ava clear across that line. Rated M just to be safe.
1. Preface

My muse, Sebastian, just smacked me with inspiration. Here's the result. Paul won't show up until later so bear with me. Some friends also enlightened me to the fact that in _Breaking Dawn_, Paul imprinted on someone. I have never, nor will I ever, read _Breaking Dawn_. I won't see the movie either, but that's beside the point. Some characters will be portrayed differently or some events not taken into account so that's my reason. Also, feedback is important to any writer so please REVIEW after reading. Alright, on with the show!

**Disclaimer**: If you can recognize it, I hold no claim to it.

**Heart of the Myth**

**Preface  
**

He's gone. Singapore, they say. I don't care where; we don't care where, as long as he's gone. Mom cried when the police told us. Pappy seemed to grow younger before my eyes. The police warned us that they haven't caught him yet, but it was unlikely that he'll bother us again.

Staring into my coffee mug, it felt like a weight have been lifted, some depressing air lifted from the house. Five months of the continuous harassment and it's finally…over. I glanced across the kitchen table. Pappy was reading the Sunday papers. Already he holds himself different; straighter, stronger, sure. Mom was puttering with the teakettle. She glowed with relief. It's been a while since I saw her that light on her feet. I leaned back to look at the picture they made.

They say opposites attract and that couldn't be truer in my parents' case. Dr. Bridgette Lewis-Moore, PhD in mythological studies and Dr. Joseph Moore, PhD in pure mathematics; one who's reality can be calculated on a whiteboard and the other who's reality stems from stories. Yup, they're my parents.

Mom's a New York Times bestselling author. That's how it all started. She use to teach at UC Berkeley with Pappy until she published her first novel and it became a huge phenomenon. Things were good in the beginning. It was only recently that…well, the world got screwy. It got so bad, Mom had to go to therapy. The therapist was a good friend though and helped Mom—helped us—return our lives back to normal.

Dr. Jonathan Kelsey even offered us the use of his summer home. It was good timing too as Pappy's sabbatical was coming up.

"Jonathan's really letting us use his summer home?" Is it still considered a summer home if we go in January and stay past summer?

"Of course, dear," Mom told me, pouring me another cup of tea. "Jonathan said we need to get away for a while; start fresh. He offered us the house his Great-Aunt Gertrude left him."

I gave my father an incredulous look.

Pappy shook his graying hair. "It's not exactly a summer home."

"Hush, Joe. Oh, darling, it sounds so wonderful! It's so close to the ocean and everything is so fresh!" Mom gushed, her eyes glazing over as she delved into the picture Jonathan painted with words

"We going to Miami?" That's what comes to mind, at least; oceans, fresh, Miami's perfect.

"Not…exactly."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm all for the nature and wilderness thing but not when it encourages mold to grow on your person," I grumbled, wringing the water from my hair. "There's a high chance that we can get ergot poisoning with all this rain."

We finally arrived at Jonathan's house. It was nice, at least from what I can tell in the pouring rain. Mom was flitting around like a boxer on speed, turning on lights and the heater. Washington is cold, did I mention that? Why people settle away from the equator is beyond me.

"Come now, Ava," Mom admonished. "Washington is a beautiful state in the sun—"

"What sun?" Pappy questioned as he dropped the last of our luggage and slams the door shut. He was as grumpy as I am and it was starting to show. "If I wanted to be cold and soggy, I would hop on BART and head over to San Francisco."

"True that, Pappy. At least there's the sourdough to look forward too. We're in the coffee state and we don't drink coffee."

Mom turned to face both of us with her hands on her hips. This is not good. Pappy and I glanced at each other, preparing to face the dragon.

"Joseph Marvin Moore," Mom's tone was hard and her eyes glinted. Pappy's getting it first. I wonder if I can escape. "We haven't had a family vacation during our sabbaticals ever since you got tenure. Now that we can, you are not going to ruin this for us. And you!" Mom turned her head toward me. "Avalon Iseult Moore, you are going to enjoy the six months we have here before we all go back and you flit off to Stanford and leave us in our old age." Her shoulders sagged and it seemed to put years on her face. "We need this."

"Yes, Mom."

"Of course, dear."

Mom climbed the stairs to explore the second floor.

"Start calling University of Washington, see if they need a lecture on pure mathematics and it's uselessness," I commented. "Or we'll both be stuck doing Forks-y things."

"Already did, honey," Pappy grinned at me. "Called U-Dub and Peninsula College over at Port Angeles first thing when your mom mentioned Forks. I better leave a note to myself to give Jonathan a piece of my mind. Who the hell offers someone a vacation in a state with perpetual rain?"

"Pappy, we're Californios. We call Berkeley, Berzerkeley. We do not call UW, U-Dub. God forbid someone might mistake us for Washingtonians."

"Highly doubt it, Ava," Pappy said, pointing out his short sleeve button up and khaki slacks and my peasant skirt with linen tunic and espadrilles combo. "And besides, she'll probably end up starting another book or researching the Native American legends. There's a reservation around here, you know."

"She does know that the Indians weren't happy when Silko1 wrote about the stories, right? What makes her think, the Indians in Washington are going to hand over their legends to an outsider?"

"Your mother has a PhD in fantasy."

Point taken.

1. Silko—Leslie Marmon Silko, author of _Ceremony_ that contains traditional Navajo stories.

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	2. Chapter 1

SPRING BREAK!!! WOOT!!!

**Chapter 1**

Being the daughter of not one but two professors, I was and still am the unofficial TA. I won't trade that for anything though. What's great is watching my parents lecture on something that they're so passionate about. It takes someone special to make pure mathematics interesting, especially to non-mathematicians. But my Pappy did it.

When the floor opens for questions, there is always hands going up in the air. Pappy truly believes that there are no such things as stupid questions. Of course, that puts pressure on his students as this means that everything is fair game for the exam as they have time to ask and he always answers.

Currently, there were a group of students and professors orbiting around my Pappy like he was the sun. I started shutting down PowerPoint and computer and packing everything.

A lone woman disentangled from the circle and headed towards me. She was shorter than I by several inches with a silky waterfall of black hair and large brown eyes. Her skin was a dark olive tone with high cheekbones and lips on the thinner side.

"Hi, I'm Kim," she held out her hand to shake. "Your father is amazing."

"I'm Ava, and thank you," I replied, smiling. "Although he gets a little long-winded at times."

"He's a lot more patient than some of the teachers here at Peninsula," Kim said. "Professor Moore said you guys are staying in Forks for a while?" she questioned after a few seconds of silence.

I nodded cautiously, zipping up the PC in its little computer cocoon. "Mom wanted to visit."

"Do you think—" Kim blushed and looked down on her shoes. "Do you think your mother will sign my book? It's just, I've always loved her books and my mom and Emily all can't wait for her next installment and—"

"Whaoh! Chill, dude," I laughed. "Mom will be happy to sign a copy. I can give you an address to send your book too. Just include a stamped envelope with it."

"Um…actually, I live on the reservation next to Forks. Is it possible that I come over sometime?"

I looked her up and down, trying to find any hint that she could be an obsessive fan-slash-stalker. She looks normal, but then, so did he.

"Oh gosh! Stupid me! You probably think I'm some nut-job stalker or something. How about we just meet in the Forks Starbucks? There's always people around. Can I bring some friends along? Do you think—,"

"How about we get Bridgette to do a book signing instead," Pappy's voice cut in. His circle of inquisitors has finally left. "I don't think she has ever done a book signing outside Seattle."

"Really?" Kim asked, her eyes getting wider if at all possible. "That would be a dream come true!"

"Actually," I inserted. "Mom wants to research the Native American legends and attitudes. Do you think you can hook her up if we get her to…?"

"La Push," Kim supplied.

"Right. If we get her to La Push, do you think your tribal council or elders will give a white woman the time of day?"

Kim frowned for a minute, thinking it over. "I don't have much say, but if I get Emily to bug Sam, and Leah and Sue to bug Billy…yes, I'm pretty sure I can get someone to give Dr. Moore an interview."

"That should do it," Pappy nodded, turning to me. "Ava, when you finish here, just call me. Burke and I are going to have a little chat."

I got the locations of possible bookstores that would work for Mom's future book signing. There weren't a lot of choices but at least they weren't franchise bookstores like Borders; you have to book way ahead of time to have a book signing. At least with mom&pop stores, you can have a book signing in three days since there's no supervisor or event consultant you have to talk to.

I left Kim in a blissful state while she waited for her boyfriend and I logged onto the internet. Some people walk and chew gum at the same time; I can surf the net, eat an avocado burger and drive a car—of course this was all before that pesky cell phone ban. Still they only ban talking on the phone, there's no law against texting.

"Everything settled, Ava?" Pappy asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

I scrolled down the web-page, scanning the information. "So far, only the public library seems big enough. But I'm visiting the La Push bookstores that Kim gave me to publicize the signing." Technology, you gotta love it. I turned left, out of the college parking lot. Hey, we're in Washington, there's no phone ban now. "So how was your philosophical discussion with Burke?"

"Exhaustive. He's relentless, aggressive, straight-forward, detail-oriented—"

"Like you?"

"Exactly! Like—hey!" I snickered at his slip. "I changed your diapers young lady!" He exclaimed in mock-rage.

"And I gave you 21 years of love only a fruit from your loins could give."

"More like annoyance," he replied.

"Well, then someones should have embraced the contraceptive culture a bit more."

"You were an accident."

"Ouch!" I clutched my heart with one hand. "That hurts, Pappy. Now I have to drive to the Haight and use all my money on Meth and LSD. And when I run out I'll strip for a living all the while blaming the heartless man who conceived me."

Pappy snorted. "This coming from the girl that threw up from a sip of beer and 'accidentally' made methamphetamine in the chemistry lab? You were damn lucky I found your research before someone else did."

"Temp was in on it too! It all started with her 'let's make Advil' idea," I whined. "And it wasn't like we were going to try it, or sell it."

"I wasn't worried about you trying it, you dunderhead. I was more worried about the Dean finding out."

"Well, he didn't."

"Because I burned it after I read it."

"So that's why Mom was mad at you for the mysterious brown patch on our Oriental rug," I mused.

"She would have blown a gasket if I told her."

"You're not thinking of telling her now, are you?"

"Are you out of your mind, Ava? Bridgette will murder me before she does you."

I grinned. "Nothing like fear of the matriarch to bring father and daughter closer."

"You should have seen your Grandmother Susie," Pappy shivered at the thought of Mom's mom. "That woman is Medusa incarnate."

We arrived back at the Winter House, the name I dubbed Jonathan's house. Original, I know. It really was a nice house. It was two stories with a circular window in the attic. The porch wraps around the entire house and culminated in a large back area overlooking the backyard and beyond that, the forests. The blue paint was faded but still recognizable.

"Lucy! I'm home!" Pappy hollered into the house with a bad Spanish accent. Mom came bustling out of the kitchen with an apron. "Bridgette? You just came out of the kitchen…with an apron."

"I made dinner!" Mom said proudly. Here's the thing about my mom: she burns water.

"What did you make, Bridgette?" Pappy questioned fearfully.

"Chinese!"

"Chinese-Chinese or American-Chinese?" I asked, slipping into the kitchen. Sure enough there were plates of Chinese food scattered on the granite island. Circling the counter-top, I stopped at the trashcan and smiled. "Dang, Mom, this looks awesome. Of course, you wouldn't have had any help from Lee's would you?!" I picked up the take out carton and displayed it so Pappy wouldn't have to worry.

"Ok, so I dialed the phone," Mom pouted. "It takes skill to flip it into the plate and still make it look pretty."

I let her have her victory. It has been a while since we were so carefree. "So, I think Pappy got you your ticket to the Native American legends."

"How? And they're the Quileute tribe, honey."

I downed half a bottle of water before replying. "There's this girl at the lecture and she says there's a ton of people that love your books. So, Pappy suggested a book signing and I asked if she could work her council over into giving you an interview. She says it's pretty likely."

"Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you, darling," Mom kissed the top of my head then Pappy. "Will it be soon? I already sent in my last manuscript. I need to write about something."

"I'm setting it for a week from Saturday," I nibbled an egg roll. "We got to inform the bookstores and the library so they can publicize."

"Oh, this is so exciting. I better go prepare my questions!" Mom flitted off.

We watched her go. I turned to Pappy when Mom left the room, his genius finally struck me. "You planned this! If Mom's busy with the signing and the interview, she won't make you do Forks-y things and meet the locals!"

Pappy smirked, lifting his mug to his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

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**


	3. Chapter 2

**Spring Break makes for quick updates but it wreaks havoc on my internal alarm clock. I wake up at 6am before I realize I don't have class. Anyways, now we're getting to the heart of the story...or at least starting to. And now, on with the show...  
**

**Chapter 2**

"Yes, Saturday, January 14 at one o'clock," I confirmed. "I'm not quite sure how many chairs you would need. Hopefully, you could take care of that since you're more familiar with the population. Yes, yes. Alright then. Of course. Ok, thank you again. Yes, it was sudden—oh, you're welcome. Yes, Dr. Moore is very excited too. Alright then, no problem. Good bye." I canceled the call, mentally checking off the library. It's settled there will be a book signing by Dr. Bridgette Lewis-Moore on Saturday, January 14.

Now I just need to go around to the two bookstores on the reservation and give them a stack of fliers. I also need to stop by the high school library and get the librarians there to spread the word about the signing. You'd be surprised at how many librarians like to talk and gossip. I mean, they have access to school administrators, teachers, and students. Being stuck in the library day in and day out makes them hungry for some excitement. I won't be surprised if word reached Forks in a couple days.

Oh crap! I forgot all about Forks! I need to publicize in that town too since it's only a 20-minute drive to La Push from there. God, I miss the coordinators. I hate talking to so many people and being chipper all the time. At least when they're around, they take care of all these technical junk and deal with the people while I just deal with the pens and ink. The bookstore owners readily accepted the fliers though and promised to spread the word to their customers.

I had to search for a parking space, when I reached the high school and ended up in the student parking. I was greeted by name when I entered the school office building.

"Miss. Moore! We're so excited Dr. Moore is visiting," one women exclaimed when I got her attention.

"Will she be doing a reading from _Scarlett Tide_ or something that's still at the editors?" another asked.

"She hadn't decided yet. She's still finalizing the plans. Actually, I'm here to ask if the librarians will post up some fliers for the signing."

"I'm sure Anne would love to," the first woman said. "She's going to flip when she finds out who's coming."

"Well, thanks again," I try to politely bail from the impending conversation. "I better go hand out the rest of these fliers."

"See you Saturday!"

I waved goodbye and left. Not a minute too soon. Right when I shut the door, rain started pouring. I appreciate spring showers and the occasional thunderstorms. There's always that clean earthy smell after a good storm. But this is ridiculous. It hasn't stopped raining for more than a day.

My Blackberry rang.

"Yea, Mom?"

"Ava, darling, would you pick up some things from the grocery store on your way back?"

"Sure thing," I accepted as I peered through the rain-splattered windshield. "And did you pick out what you're going to read on Saturday?"

"I was debating between my newest release and the one in the editing room. But then they've probably already read the _Scarlett Tide_ so there's no point in reading it."

"You could just read from the manuscript you just sent. Just have to make sure it's not an important scene. They'll go—SHIT!"

Something flashed across my sight and I instinctively stomped my foot on the brakes. Not before I hit it though. The tires squealed as I felt the car swerve sideways before coming to a stop. It took a moment for my mind to registered that I stopped moving, then another moment that what I hit might still be alive in the street. I was out of the car in a flash, feeling the rain drench me instantly.

I searched in front of, behind, to the right, to the left, even below my car but I found nothing. I went back to the front bumper. There was a dent in the corner. My fingers ran across the metal until they snagged on something. Gently tugging it free, I squinted at what I held.

It looked like hair. It was coarser than rabbit fur and longer than deer. Glancing around me, I tried to find any sign that a wounded animal might have passed. The fact that I dropped the phone after my exclamatory remark suddenly surfaced and I quickly got back into the car. Mom's voice was faint but clear as she shouted into the phone.

"Mom—Mom! I'm ok! I'm fine. I just thought I hit something. No, I'm not hurt. I'm fine really," I soothed her. I tuned out her concern as I scanned the surrounding forest once again.

My eyes doubled back before I knew what it was I was looking at.

Fenrisúlfr.

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	4. Chapter 3

**Good day, my phantom readers. When there's nothing to do, write. I'm so nerdy, I spend my spring break writing chapters. Sigh. I need a life**.

**Chapter 3**

Fenrisúlfr: the great wolf of Norse mythology.

That was who stared at me, unblinking, unmoving. HE had a pair of great eyes; brown eyes. I should be screaming, but I oddly wasn't. Instead, I can only stare back, hypnotized by his appearance. HIS eyes were warm…like toffee. Rimmed in black, it was set deep against gray fur. Gray like thunderclouds that shimmer from light to dark with the changing light. The ears were black tipped and HIS snout held impossibly large canines.

HE. "It" does not suit the wolf. "It" seems to demean HIM, a god in HIS own right. A god-killer.

I could see HIM clearly from within my car and I was a ways from the edge of the woods. HIS ears almost brush the limbs of the pine tree. HE could easily engulf my 5'6" frame.

Fenrisúlfr stared.

I stared back.

A wolf's howl caused me to flinch and stray my eyes for a second. It was enough. When I looked back, HE was gone. My senses finally came back to me as I realized I held a phone to my ear.

"Ava! Are you there?! Avalon?!"

"I'm here, Mom. I'm here," I muttered, more to ground myself than to placate her. "I'm here."

Mom didn't want her stuffed olives and oranges anymore; I'm to go straight home. It took me a while to start the car, I didn't even realize my hands were shaking until I try to insert the key into the ignition. Even then, my mind was still racing and jumping.

What happened?

I hit something.

Evidence?

The dent in my front bumper.

What did I see?

I saw a mythological wolf.

Evidence?

…My own eyes.

Am I insane?

Quite so, yes. Thank you for finally noticing.

Evidence?

I just saw a flippin' mythological creature!

Parking the car and entering the Winter House was autopilot. Responding to Mom's worry and changing my wet clothes were autopilot too. It wasn't until I was alone in my room and taking off my sweater that I noticed my hand.

Through the phone call, the encounter, the drive and Mom's fuss I clenched it tightly in my hand. Slowly, I opened my fist.

A drop of water slid from gray hairs to fall onto the carpet.

Gray like thunderclouds.

Evidence.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I deemed myself sane enough, I tried to pick Mom's brain to somehow explain what I saw.

"Fenrisúlfr? Well, he's the great wolf prophesied to devour Odin," Mom replied.

"Anything else?" I coaxed.

"There was that whole story where the Norse pantheon tried to imprison him. The first two bindings weren't able to hold him but they were finally able to do so with Gleipneir. Of course it cost them Týr's arm. Why are you suddenly asking? You helped me on the research, you know just as much as I."

"Nothing," I chirped. "Just settling something between Temp and me."

Mom had a look of surprise. "Tempest is interested in mythology? I never knew."

"Temp is an opportunist," I said, letting her take it anyways she wanted. It was true enough; my best friend is the worst opportunist. She would look at dirt and contemplate some way to sell it to you. "Did they say what color Fenrisúlfr is?"

"Myths aren't that accurate with colors, darling," she answered, flipping through her notes.

"So he can be gray?"

"I don't see why not. He is a symbol after all. What is important is what he represented: the end of an era, destruction, and chaos."

Great, I just saw the Norse version of the Grimm.

"So, we're not talking Balto anymore," I muttered, returning to my computer. After my mind calmed enough to realize what I held in my hands, I spent a night reliving the experience and trying to be as objective as possible. It took me a while before I can bring up the memory without shivering but I finally did it. By being as objective as possible can I really start to research; emotions cloud judgment.

Being in a sleepy town has its pros and cons. Pro: there's no distraction. Con: there's no distraction. I still don't know if this is a good idea or a bad one.

At first, I played with the idea that what I saw was the culmination of cold, foreign territory, and rain that caused my mind to mutate a regular wolf into Fenrisúlfr. Further research into the wolves in this area crossed out that theory.

Where before I was calm and focused, now I glance around me trying to catch a glimpse of HIM. Even when I knew he would not appear again, I wanted to see HIM. In the beginning, I prayed HE was an illusion. The wish dissolved away every time I look at the tuft of gray hair tied together with a red string, resting in my pen case. This whole situation should have pulled me back into what happened a couple months ago, but there is something different. I was chasing after a fantasy after all, not some creepy stalker…Ok, that sounded less psychotic in my mind.

I finally settled on two theories to explain my experience.

First theory: what I saw really was a giant wolf-like creature. It might not be THE Fenrisúlfr, but that is HIS name until further notice.

Second theory: I have schizophrenia.

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	5. Chapter 4

**Hello, my phantom readers. Another chapter, another day spent in front of my computer instead of enjoying the sunshine. But some good has come from it: at least we're getting somewhere with this chapter. Um...that's about it...On with the show!  
**

**Chapter 4**

"…a waste, he said to himself as he kicked the fresh corpse aside. His heart hardened even as his conscious weep for the friend he might have made; the brother he might have loved. Death was wasted on him."

There was a still moment when Mom flipped the packet back to the front and removed her reading glasses. Then as one, the audience clapped and cheered. It was a large audience as I'm pretty sure majority of the La Push population and half of Forks were there in that teeny-tiny public library. They ran out of chairs so people started sitting on the kiddie chairs and then the occupying the floor. I had a hard time trying not to laugh at this huge Native American man sitting on a bright purple kiddie chair with his arms around his legs and Mom's books surrounding him.

The floor opened up for questions. This is going to take some time…which leaves me to fill in Mom's signing pen. Yes, Mom has pens for specific purposes—and they're all fountain pens. I usually fill the cartridge for the Valor during the Q&A. Really, that's the name of the fountain pen: the Sheaffer Valor with a black acrylic body, screw on cap and 14K gold broad nib with palladium inlaid. It was the second high-end fountain pen she bought with her first paycheck from her novel. The Mont-Blanc is her first purchase and rarely leaves her office; that one was engraved with the title of her first book, the year published and is sitting in a case on a wall.

Mom never lets anyone beside the family touch her pens. But then, the family knows better than to write with each other's fountain pens. They're personal like that; they conform to the writer's slant and strokes. Trying to use someone's pen might even break it.

We're a family of pen geeks. Don't hate.

Filling the pen with ink and the extra cartridge didn't take the whole Q&A time but it gave me a chance to look around at the crowd. I spotted Kim next to the man on the purple kiddie chair. Actually, she was surrounded by extremely large Native men. They were eerily similar. If you look at them from behind, you probably won't know who is who. I made out short black hair cut close to the scalp and olive skin a shade or two darker than Kim's.

There was a noisy shuffle as people lined up and Mom prepared to get a hand cramp. Starting at the beginning, I asked each person their name and spelling before writing it on the post-it and sticking it on the title page.

"Hi, Ava!" Kim greeted excitedly when I finally reached her group.

"Hello," I nodded back, writing her name on yellow post-it.

"This is Jared, my boyfriend," she pointed at the man besides her holding what appeared to be Mom's entire collection.

"Nice to meet you," I told him. "I'm sorry, but the limit is two books. We have to give everybody a fair chance."

Jared sighed, frowning. "I can't choose! I liked all of them!" He looked to Kim for help.

"You can go back to the end of the line and wait again," I advised him. "Dr. Moore just can't sign all 14 books in one go."

Kim gave me a thankful smile. "I brought the friends I was talking about." She turned around to the people behind her. "Hey, guys! This is the Ava I told you about!"

"Hey," another tall man said behind Jared. "Name's Embry."

I looked at him for a second. He shuffled under my gaze. "Haven't heard that one yet. The closest I ever got was Emery. Is that right?"

He looked at the spelling and nodded. "Mom named me after some soap opera star."

"My mom named me after a disappearing island," I sympathized. "Mothers."

"Mothers," Embry grinned back.

"What's up?" another voice spoke up behind Embry. Again, he was tall and dark. "My name's Seth. Can I get one for my girlfriend too?"

"Seth as in the the Egyptian god?" I asked as I penned it down.

Seth turned around to a tall, middle-aged woman. Her black hair has some grey and it was pulled back into a ponytail. "Hey, Mom, did you know you named me after a god?"

The young woman behind Seth's mother rolled her eyes as his mom answered. "Your father named you. He said something about Cain and Abel," she shrugged.

Seth turned around dejected. "Apparently not," he sighed.

"Your girlfriend's name?" I asked gently, slightly amused.

"Magdalene," he said proudly. He said her name as someone would the prayers and his eyes shone with such emotions. I wondered for a minute if he really was praying.

"As in Mary Magdalene?" I clarified. He nodded.

"Sue," his mother told me. Ah! An easy one. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You too," I said back. I looked to the young woman. We were eye to eye. I almost flinched from her eyes. There was so much swimming in them, I didn't want to look for fear I'd forget myself. Such eyes did not belong in such a beautiful face. "And your name?"

"Leah," she replied shortly. She definitely didn't have tender eyes1.

I taped the yellow note into her book, _Bloodstone_. It was one of Mom's more melancholic book with the heroine martyring herself to keep from going insane. The next person almost made me drop my pen but I caught myself in time. She would have been as beautiful as Leah—if it weren't for the scars on half her face.

"Hello, my name's Emily and it's really nice to meet you," she said sweetly. Then I saw; it didn't matter. Emily was still beautiful; it shone from her eyes, from her carriage, from her voice.

"It's nice to meet you too," I said. "Your books?"

Emily turned to the person behind her holding a stack of books equal in height to Jared's. "Paul? Paul meet-,"

The thumps of hardbacks hitting the floor were not unfamiliar noises to a book signing. Neither was the clatter of a pen. Somehow I knew that my reaction was being observed by more than one pair of eyes. I didn't hear the rest of Emily's words; I didn't hear anything when I looked into HIS eyes.

"Fenrisúlfr."

Leah—one of four wives of Jacob; in the Torah it wrote, "Leah has tender eyes."

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	6. Chapter 5

**Fenrisúlfr is supposedly pronounced Fen-ris-ulf-er; so I was told. In Norse mythology, he was a giant wolf whom the Norse pantheon had chained because it was foretold that he would devour Odin at the end of the world. In Chapter3 Ava called the wolf she saw a god-killer, it was referring to ****Fenrisúlfr killing Odin. Hopefully this clears up any questions.  
**

**Chapter 5**

It was HIS eyes, the same warm, toffee that stared at me from the woods. It was a memory forever ingrained in my mind. But HIS eyes were not in the right face. It was not the right species. HIS eyes are now in a human face.

Don't get me wrong, it was a handsome face: square-jawed and bold, craggy features with full lips. But the eyes…HIS eyes. It was the same wide-eyed stare, except now coupled with the man's feature portrayed a sense of awe and disbelief.

"Paul!" someone said harshly. Jared appeared and grabbed Fenri—Paul's arm. Paul; that was his name. He did not look like a Paul. I had an easier time shaking myself from my stupor than Paul. Hastily, I picked up my pen and moved down the line, concentrating on spelling and not the man who stole the eyes of my Fenrisúlfr. April; A-P-R-I-L; April.

HIS eyes followed me; I felt it. It was a trial keeping myself from looking up and meeting them. Thankfully, the line was similar to a never ending one; people lined back up again to get more books signed. As time passed, the line dwindled. None of Kim's group tried to flag me down though for which I gave a sigh of relief.

"Ava!" Kim appeared beside me.

Spoke too soon. I smiled politely. "Kim."

"Hey, you busy tomorrow night?" She asked. From my confused expression she continued. "Well, your mom's interviewing Old Quil so we thought we'd invite you over to a bonfire."

"Thank you for the invitation but I—"

"It'll be wonderful if you come too, Ava," Emily said, coming up to us with Sue. "It's always a lot of fun."

"Something for the youngsters to do while the old people sit and chat about the old days," Sue laughed. "You should really come, Ava. I bet you haven't had time to see the beaches from running around the reservation and Forks all week."

"And there's a lot of food," Kim added.

"I don't think I can stay the whole time," I said feebly.

"Then you have to stop by for the stories," Sue exclaimed. "Let's see, the stories usually start around eight-ish so you should come by around then."

"I-I will," came my stammered reply. Their group went off, planning out loud tomorrow's bonfire that I suddenly committed myself to. I can say no to drugs, but I can't say it to nice women. I watched them leave the library, unconsciously focusing on the man with HIS eyes.

He suddenly turned around at the door, eyes pinpointing on me even as he was dragged ever further away by his friends. They were HIS eyes. I just want to know how he got them.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Curse Washington and it's perpetual chill. Curse my inability to say 'no' to nice people. Curse nice people in general. If it weren't for them, I would be warm and cozy back at the house.

Being from sunny California, I can understand going to the beach in winter. We're close to the equator so winter just means chilly. Up here in Washington is a whole 'nother story. It was damn cold. The kind of cold where a cup of soda will freeze in ten minutes if left unattended. Not only that, but the people here goes to the beach when it's damn cold—and with no clothes! Seriously!

I was in a heavy pea coat with wool tights under my cargo pants and equestrian boots. When I pulled up and shuffled toward the bonfire, there were Kim's group shirtless and shoeless. I mean, Kim, Emily, Sue and some others were bundled up like me, but majority of the Native men were in California summer gear: shirt and shorts.

I was uncertain and faltered in my step. At parties, I know who to go to: the host/hostess to thank them for inviting me, then my friends or peers. Here, I don't know people. I don't belong. It was even more apparent with my pale skin and huddled form.

"Ava!" Emily caught sight of me and waved. I hesitated before shuffling over to her group. Her group included two tall, heavily muscled, Native men and Paul. Last night I had several theories about how Paul came to Fenrisúlfr's eyes. The only one that seemed remotely possible is that Paul is somehow Fenrisúlfr. Of course, this is all based off the precondition that I believe Fenrisúlfr exist in the first place and that the tuft of gray hair is still snug in my pen case. "I'd like you to meet my husband, Sam."

One of the tall men held out his hand for me to shake. I did and almost winced. His hands were hot. Add the fact that my hand was previously freezing from the cold and it feels like I just dipped my hand in boiling water.

"Nice to meet you," Sam said.

"You too."

"And this is Jacob," Emily introduced another Native man. However, his hair was longer, almost reaching his chin. Jacob didn't bother to shake just nodded his head. "And you met Paul."

I looked at his nose. Something in me wouldn't let me look into the toffee gaze. "Hello," I muttered.

"Hey." His voice was deep and gravelly…like Bryan Adams.

"You came earlier than expected," Emily quickly said to avoid the awkward pause. "Billy isn't even here yet."

I shrugged. "Mom's in one of her moods. I either stay out of her way or end up looking up some obscure pagan mating ritual. "

"You don't like research?" Paul suddenly asked from beside me.

"I suppose I do," I answered. "But my research tend to jump from subject to subject. I wonder, myself, how I pass my classes."

I saw his lips move up in a slight smile. They were nice lips too…Whoah! Steering away from that train wreck, right now! I huddle into my pea coat some more. Even the heat of the fire didn't chase away the perpetual chill I always feel.

"Not use to the cold, are you?" Emily asked, teasingly.

"I'm a Californio. Our winters don't go below 50," I replied. "I use to think San Francisco was bad. Washington takes the cake." Paul left abruptly. I frowned. "Did I…did I offend him?"

Jacob turned his eyes toward me from Paul's retreating back. "Nah. Paul's just random like that. He'll be back soon enough. So," his eyes turned mischievous. "California… Long Beach, L.A….give us the dirt!"

"We like in Berkeley," I told him. "20 minutes from campus and 45 from San Francisco."

Jacob looked me up and down. "You don't look like a dope-smoking hippie."

Emily gasped while Sam reprimanded him. It took me a second for the phrase to register in my mind but once it did, I giggled.

"I apologize for Jacob, Ava," Emily hastily said.

"Don't worry about it," I told her. "And not everyone from Berkeley is a left-wing anarchist or gay if they're from San Francisco." The last sentence was directed at Jacob. Something heavy fell on my shoulders—a blanket. Paul held out a styrofoam cup to me. I took it, the heat seeping into my half-frozen digits. I thanked Paul, but he just nodded.

"Are you going to school in California?" Jacob asked.

"I'm going into Stanford's medical school in fall." A look passed between Sam, Jacob and Emily before it turned toward Paul. I glanced over to see his jaw clenched and a tick was starting to form from the tight muscles. He started grinding. "Don't do that," I admonished without thinking. "You'll ruin your teeth."

Paul suddenly stopped, his jaw relaxing. "Sorry," he muttered.

I turned back to them. "Is there some rivalry between Washington and Stanford I should know about?"

"What? Oh, no…it's just you're so…young."

I shrugged. "Good planning. I knew I was going to Berkeley and I knew my major so I didn't have the bumbling period of choosing classes for this school or that one."

"Your parents must be happy," Emily commented.

"Mom and Pappy wants me to get into the program in San Francisco," I shook my head. "I've already spent four years at a crowded campus, I don't want to spend four more on another one." I looked around at them. "What about you guys? Where do you dudes go to school?"

Jacob shrugged. "I'm working full time. School's not for me."

"I work with Jacob," Paul muttered. "Not interested in school."

"As long as you like what you do," I responded. We're an academic family, doesn't mean we're academic snobs. There are lots of different, progressive education and intelligences that are fascinating and has their pros and cons.

Then came a migration as people started moving towards the bonfire. Paul gently steered me toward an unoccupied log and sat beside me. Literally smushed up beside me that I didn't even need the fire's heat. I scooted away a little. Maybe it's me, but I think his shoulders sagged a little.

There wasn't enough time for me to ponder Paul's reaction. Billy cleared his throat and everyone fell silent. I was never one for storytelling. I would much rather read the book. Someone telling me a story makes me feel as if I'm missing something important. But with Billy, he gave a great performance. I was riveted from beginning to middle. I was too lost in my own sudden and horrific epiphany to be attentive to the ending.

**As always, leave a REVIEW please. **


	7. Chapter 6

**To my phantom readers: There's something about spring that makes writers write which makes more work for me as now I have a stack of writing I have to edit. Damn my unquestionable honor to friendship and all that it entails. The next couple chapters are probably going to be rushed, type and upload thing. Sorry in advance. **

**Chapter 6**

There's usually a triumphant-EUREKA!-light bulb moment when something clicks in my mind. The excitement from the adrenaline rush when you finally understand something is just…awesome. But this was a different kind of adrenaline rush. This rush of hormones did not produce the euphoria of a job well done. Instead, it produced a knot of dread in the pit of my stomach.

As Billy's story progressed, I had the _conclusion_ if the _precondition_ still stands. The _observation _is flowing ever faster to the surface of my mind, jumbling together as they try to fit into my reasoning. For once, my mind was chaotic.

I ignored the feeling in my stomach and the instinct to dart my eyes like a frightened animal to look at Paul and the others. I focused on logic and reason; the only things that stays constant and predictable.

Theory: Paul, Jacob, Embry, Sam and maybe a few others I didn't name are the shape-shifting wolves of their tribal myth.

Precondition: The myths exist in some shape or form, even the mystical forces.

Observation: Paul has toffee eyes. They are warm, well beyond 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, 37 degrees Celsius. They're huge.

Analysis: The eyes of Paul are the same as HIS. They are exceedingly warm just like the legends describe. They are extremely large and muscular in a similar fashion—this could be attributed to coincidence. Coincidence my gluteus maximus!

Conclusion: The wolves of their legends exist today in their community. It manifested in these men.

Confirmation: The gray hairs in my pen case…Ok that's a weak confirmation.

It is weak logically, but it is still logical.

There is a high probability that I am sitting in the heart of the myth.

I did not know how long I sat there, mulling over my new findings. Later I would find out I dropped my styrofoam cup after I notice the coffee stain on my pants. My eyes saw the bonfire and the people around it, but apparently, my brain did not deem it important enough to pay attention to.

Confirmation, I need confirmation. If I don't get that, it will haunt me. The easiest would be to ask. Yes, a course of action. That decision started up my body. I noticed people staring at me. I noticed my hands were clutching nothing. I noticed I was suddenly extremely warm in my coat. I turned to find Paul's concerned almost frantic face close to mine. He had his arms around me.

"You dazed off," he said. I looked at him, straight into his eyes. Fear bubbled up for a moment at the answer he might give me. This is the point of no return. A nagging voice inside my mind asked me: is this knowledge worth your sanity?

Then again, what sanity?

"Wolf?" I asked, my voice breaking. I waited and stared into his eyes, searching. His eyes were hard now with resolve.

"Yes." There was no deception, only a weary anticipation. For my reaction maybe. I'm waiting for my reaction too.

"Ok," I said.

His face scrunched in confusion. "O….k…..?"

"Ok," I confirmed.

"Ok," Paul glanced at the people around us before returning to me. "Ok. So…you're…ok?"

I shrugged. "It was either accept this or I'm schizophrenic. Kinda don't want to end up in Bedlam." I then look pointedly at his arm around my shoulders. "Dude." Instead of letting go, he tightened it around me.

"There's a little more," he finally revealed.

"I don't want to—oh, forget it. In for a penny, in for a pound. Lay it on me."

"Do you remember the imprint part?"

My stomach twisted. "Yes."

"Well, you're my imprint." That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

System shut down.

"I'm gonna go…yea, I gotta do…something…thanks for the invitation. My car's that way," I stood up, Paul's arm dropping away from me. I was suddenly numb with cold, but that's appropriate, I'm numb inside anyways. "My car, the blue Mercedes. There's a dent but it's easily explainable. I hit a rabbit. A grey long-haired rabbit, not a giant mythological wolf."

I stumbled over the log and almost fell on my knees, but I still made my way to my car. I could hear people moving about behind me. I started walking faster. My mind was…not working. No, it's working, but it's not working right. It's bouncing around, remembering odd things. It doesn't want to settle. Settling would mean analyzing what just happened.

"It's physically impossible to lick your elbows. The square root of Pi is 1.77245385. Most lipsticks are made of powdered fish scales. The butterfly was originally called a 'flutterby'."

"Ava!"

Oh no. He's coming. I power-walked. My car was in sight. Thomas Edison was afraid of the dark. The barnacle has the largest penis of any other animal relative to its size. I raised the alarm and it beeped, seconds before I opened the door and slid in. Hitler and Napoleon only had one testicle. I pulled to close my door and almost wrenched my arm out of its socket.

"Ava."

Damn. His figure was in shadows but I could see his hand and arm holding my door open. "It's physically impossible to sneeze with your eyes open."

"Good to know," his rough voice cut through my mental regurgitation. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know but I just came back from Wonderland. I think I drove over the rabbit a few days ago." I stared out the windshield. You can make out the bonfire from here.

"You said you were ok," his voice got lower, quieter.

"My definition of 'ok' is different than yours. 'Ok', just means I didn't have time to digest the information given. I would like to digest this information quietly and safely at home, if you please. So, kindly remove your abnormally large hand from my car door."

I don't know who was more surprised that he did it, him or me. I closed the door. Paul still stood beside the car, staring at me with his toffee eyes. His features were stony and calm, but his eyes roiled with emotions. There was determination and anger but behind that was a pleading liquid-ness.

Part of me wanted to stay and just stare at him—he is beautiful. The same part wants to submissively melt into the dark legends of his ancestry—it was so tempting. But a bigger part, the part that pulled me through every obstacle and which I dubbed my inner-Tempest, wouldn't let me. Inner-Tempest had me pulling the gearshift into reverse. Inner-Tempest didn't stop the guilt that suddenly surfaced though. I rolled the window down.

"I…I'm sorry."

I reversed and raced off, not even daring to glance at the rear view mirror for fear I'd see him. If I see him, I might just listen to the small part of me and run back to him.

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	8. Chapter 7

**Not feeling this chapter...I think Sebastian left me. Damn that fickle muse! **

**Chapter 7**

It's not right.

I stayed up all night staring at the pages of yellow notebook paper scattered across my desk, the floor, and my bed. There were fourteen internet windows opened on my MacBook: anatomy, physics, biology, chemistry, zoology, alchemy,Wikipedia, psychology, immunology, virology, genetics, pathology, sociology, and physiology.

It's impossible.

The most basic principle of any science is that mass is neither created nor destroyed. How can a 200 pound man change into a wolf twice his weight? There's no disease that makes a man grow hair. There's no drugs, no virus, no bacteria, no chemical, no radiation, nothing that could cause such a reaction. There's nothing that would make a rational person believe this fantastical story.

I am a rational person.

I am a logical person.

Then why do I want to believe every damn word?

Arguments following a similar nature have been occurring in my mind since _that_ incident.

I looked up but all I see was the same thing: the ER nurse behind the desk, working on a stack of files and the curtains pulled across each section. I glanced at the clock to my left. 10:52. I've been up 27 hours and counting.

"Avalon I. Moore?" A silky voice called out.

I looked up. Holy Mother of pasta!

I think I found the epitome of Hitler's 'master race'.

He was extremely pale and the bright indoor light only serve to reinforce that. Wispy, white-blonde hair was swept back to reveal a clean-shaven, angular face. His eyes were golden and radiate kindness. He was young too.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Cullen," he smiled, while holding back the curtains to an empty bed.

"Hi," I said lamely, hopping up on it. I let out a sigh. "No offense, Dr. Cullen, I'm sure you're a great resident, top of your class, but I would feel better talking to an older doctor. Particularly one that specialized in psychology."

He sat down on the swivel chair with an amused look. Doctors always have comfy chairs.

"I graduated Columbia, class of '92."

"Sorry, Doctor. What about psychology, did you double major in that?"

"No, but I always did find the human mind extremely fascinating."

"You and I both."

"So," he pulled out a pen and opened my file. "Everything looks fine and healthy. What's troubling you?"

"Acute schizophrenia," I deadpanned.

A pale eyebrow rose up. "Psych student?"

"Stanford Med, class of '13…hopefully," I told him. "And it's not the Doctor's Disease. Although I had one friend that thought he had the plague."

"So what made you come up with that diagnosis, future Dr. Moore," Dr. Cullen sat back in his chair.

"Delusions, hallucinations, lack of emotions, incoherent speech, and paranoia."

Dr. Cullen was silent for a moment as he stared at me with his unnaturally beautiful eyes. "Can you explain a little more?"

"Hallucinations: I keep seeing this huge wolf. You know the great Norse wolf that's suppose to devour Odin? Yea, I saw him several times so that'll be under the category of paranoia. I think I hit him too, with my car. He has beautiful eyes though…off topic. Delusions: well, I was invited by this girl to some bonfire down by the beach where they told stories. Guess what, they have werewolves. Normal, sane people would write it off as a great campfire story. Through some twisted logic that only exists in my mind I linked those stories with this one dude, Paul, who has the same color eyes. I hallucinated him telling me he and his friends are werewolves. I sat there like he was talking about the weather—lack of emotions. It took me a while before I started spouting the randomness crap you ever heard. Did you know that lipsticks are made of fish scales? Why would you, not like you wear lipstick…do you?"

He sat there, statue-still, while processing my babble. I continued when he shook his head.

"Right. I started saying random stuff. Of course my inner-Tempest finally kicked in and I drove out of there. But the worst part; you ready for the worst part? The worst part is: I didn't want to leave." I stared past the curtains, trying to make out the blurry shapes behind it. "I wanted to stay in that Wonderland that goes against every law of science and logic and sanity."

There was silence for a couple minutes. I could hear the clock ticking. "So… what now? Medication or should we call up Bedlam and have them set up a room for me?"

Dr. Cullen leaned forward. "Not everything has to be logical, Avalon."

"Call me Ava. Avalon's too Lancelot and Guinevere for me."

He cracked a smile. "As I said, not everything has to be logical and scientific. There are still many wonders left in this world. Perhaps you have just encountered one of them."

I stared at him. "The Great Wall of China is a wonder. Machu Pichu is a wonder; the Collesium is a wonder and they could all be calculated by a TI-89."

"And love? You cannot calculate love and attraction on a graphing calculator."

"Seratonin is release from the—,"

"What I mean is: think about Shakespeare."

"What does a dead playwright have to do with me? Is he schizophrenic too? Wouldn't surprise me."

He sighed. "Shakespeare wrote, 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy'."

"I didn't take philosophy. I took ethics. I guess you can categorize it as philosophy."

"What if," he rolled closer. "What if the stories you heard are true? What if this giant wolf you saw is real? How does that affect you?"

"If a man can turn into a giant wolf then the existence of werewolves are true. If that's true, then so are the vampires in their legends. If their legends are true, then there's no evidence pointing to other cultural legends not being true. This could turn into another version of _Buffy_ except without the prophecy of a slayer. Unless there really is a slayer but she's somewhere else." I sat there quietly for a minute, going over what I said in my own mind. "Can I have the pills now?"  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swung my legs, nostalgic for the days when I was under the age of seven. It's not often I get to sit where my feet doesn't touch the floor. Dr. Cullen just went out to get something, probably my prescription. He slipped in, the orangey prescription bottle in his hand. He handed it to me.

"Librium?" I gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. "Seriously?"

"I don't believe you're schizophrenic, Ava."

"But you're giving me anti-anxiety meds?"

He nodded. "It's more likely you just received a shock. Coupled with the recent move here and the stresses of your mother's book signing frayed your nerves."

"And the wolf? The stories? My car?"

He handed me a folded piece of paper. "I think it would be better if you call him and straighten the story out. But for now, the Librium is good enough." He turned to leave.

"Hey, Dr. Cullen?"

He turned around, the light from the ER waiting room bouncing off his pale hair and giving him an eerie halo.

"Would you believe it? Go against everything you were ever taught and every instinct you have for the unknown?"

He smiled at me. "In a heartbeat." He pointed to the note in my hand. "Call him, Ava. Go home, take a shower, call him and talk to him." He went out, then stuck his head back in. "And try to be a little more open-minded."

Alone in the little curtained off area, I stared at the folded note. Right. Home, shower, call, and two pills when feeling the onset of an episode. Doctor's orders.

**Leave a REVIEW please!**


	9. Chapter 8

**Jesus Christ Superstar! Teachers are evil! Everything's piling up and it's so hectic right now. Add my tendency to procrastinate and basically I've been writing papers the day before it's due. My brain's mush. You can probably tell by the resulting chapter. Lot of talking, not too much action…eh. Not my best chapter but too tired.  
**

**Chapter 8**

Calling random people puts you in awkward situations…like now.

He stared at me. I stared back…and the rest of his friends were staring at us.

"So," he started after what must have been five minutes of silence. "Flutterby, huh?"

I heard some choking sound, some muffled laughter, and a few shushing sounds where his friends were settled. "Yea, flutterby."

He nodded his head sagely. "That makes more sense than 'butterfly'. I mean, it's not a fly and it's not butter."

"I know, right? But when has English ever been logical?"

"True," he nodded his head.

We lapsed back into silence.

"So. Wolves, huh?" I asked.

He gave a curt nod. "Wolves."

I could feel my heart speed up. "Protecting against vampires?" I ventured.

He nodded again. Is it me or is it getting kinda hot in here? The rush of blood started to pound in my ear.

"And—and vampires are pretty much indestructible and walks in the sun?" I asked weakly. Another nod. I could feel my breath shortening, lungs fighting for air. Where's that damn bottle? The pills rattled when I took it out. Spilling two into my palm, I dry swallowed. My chest stopped tightening and I was able to breathe normal again.

I can do this! I will sit here, like a non-schizophrenic freak, and listen to Paul or whoever feels like it to explain it to me. I will not freak. I WILL NOT freak! I WILL NOT FREAK!

I heard a shuffle behind me. Then—

"She's already taking pills? He hadn't even gotten to the imprint part yet."

I heard something rattling. Glancing down, my hand holding the bottle was trembling. It's either from the caffeine in the huge cup of tea I drank before coming here or I was just that scared. I eyed the bottle. Another two wouldn't hurt; the dosages are just a suggestion anyways. A dark hand fell on top of mine before I could pop the top off. I looked up into Emily's kind face.

She smiled sadly. "Pills aren't the answer, honey," she told me gently. "Why don't you and I talk…upstairs?"

I nodded mutely and followed her up the stairs. We ended up in a bedroom; a guest bedroom. The walls were a nondescript blue, bare of anything personal. The sheets were sky-blue and white. Sliding doors led to the closet. Emily sat down on the bed and I gingerly lowered myself on the edges.

"How are you holding up?" Emily asked.

"Like my world's falling apart," I told her truthfully. The tightening in my chest started to loosen. I wasn't sure if it was because of the meds or because I'm talking rationally to a somewhat sane person. "Your people downstairs are telling me fantastical stories that defy all laws of science and expecting me to believe it."

"And you don't," she confirmed softly.

"I don't," I repeated. "I can't."

"Then why are you here?"

I opened my mouth to answer…then closed it. "I'm here…doctor's orders?" I ventured. Emily gave me a pointed look. "I'm here because…because—,"

Nothing came out of my mouth. I have no plausible reasoning behind my visit. I'm starting to question my own decision in coming here.

"You're here because deep down, behind all the schooling and logic, you feel it," Emily answered for me. "There's something in you that want to believe these fantastical stories, as you put it. But there's something holding you back. Not the logic and science itself but something that they bring; some sort of security you can't let go of."

I stared at her for a moment. "Psychology major?" I asked.

She smiled widely. "Communications." She sighed deeply, her smile fading. "We shouldn't have invited you so soon to the bonfire. But we weren't expecting you to figure it out yourself. All the other wolf-girls had to be told."

"I'm just good at mysteries," I tried to pacify her. "I'm queen of _Clue…_ and Sudoku, but that's beside the point." I looked around the room, trying to organize my thoughts. "If I believe this, then I'll have to deal with the facts that there are things out there. There could be aliens, necromancers, dragons, Atlantis, Zeus, Odin, Dagda. You see where I'm going with this?"

"Of course," Emily nodded. "We all went through it. Look at it this way: you catch the flu. Will you live in a bubble the rest of your life because there's disease like AIDS, Ebola, and mono out there? No, you take some Nyquil, some OJ and you get better." Unconsciously, she twisted her wedding band around her ringer. "Your problem isn't scientific."

"What about the imprint thing?" I asked her, scrambling for something. "It's like worse than an arrange marriage since even my parents have never met him."

"I understand that it can be hard for you right now. Again, all the girls went through this. Even Kim and I and we knew about the legends. The thing about imprint is that Paul will be whatever you want him to be."

I held up a hand to stop her. "Hang on, what does that mean?"

"One of the wolves, Quil, imprinted on Claire a couple years back. She was five. No, no, it's not what you're thinking," she quickly amended when she caught the look on my face. "It's not sexual in any way. Quil treats Claire like his little sister; he spoils her rotten. Then when she gets older, he'll be her best friend. When Claire's old enough and mature enough and ready, then they'll pursue a romantic relationship."

"What if I don't need anything?"

Emily smiled like you would to a kid that asked a 'duh' question. "We all need something, Ava, whether it's a friend, a confidant, or just another person to love us."

"No, seriously," I said adamantly. "I have a ten year plan. No where in it does it say 'find a partner'. I'll be barely out of residency. So you see, your imprint thing just doesn't fit."

"You can't just schedule falling in love," Emily frowned.

"That's the thing, it's not love. Love takes time."

Emily turned grave. "You're determined to sabotage this, aren't you?"

"I'm not. I don't understand how you expect me to believe and accept all this," I waved my arms to encompass everything. "What about him? He's basically forced into a relationship with me. I bet he was happy being a bachelor!"

"Have faith," Emily said simply. "Have faith in Paul and yourself. Have faith that this will work out."

"How can I have faith when it never came through for me? I'm done with faith. It's unreliable. The only thing constant is logic. Faith is for people like you, not me."

Emily gave me an affronted look. "Sam lost control and shifted. That's how I got theses scars. I thought he'd definitely leave me after that but he proposed." Her eyes went cloudy, remembering the past. "Part of me said it was all fake; he felt guilty that's why he proposed. Despite that, I said yes. I had faith in Sam and I never regretted it."

"Blind faith then," I shook my head.

"It's not blind," she disagreed. "I felt something between us before that. I trust myself and my own judgment." She looked me squarely in the eyes. "You felt a pull, that's why you came or nothing would have pushed you here; not Paul, not Dr. Cullen or anyone. Trust yourself and what your heart is telling you. Have faith—in yourself and in Paul."

"Not everyone gets a happily-ever-after," I countered. "For every fairytale ending, there's a hundred more that ended in divorce and tears. I already saw you and Sam and my parents. That's like seeing Haley's Comet twice. I'm not holding my breath."

Emily sighed, giving me a sad look. "I hope Paul can melt whatever ice you made around your heart." She walked out, leaving me alone with her last statement.

**Leave a REVIEW please! I'm going to bed...sweet, sweet bed, how I miss thee...  
**


	10. Chapter 9

I throw myself upon your mercy, dear readers! I am so sorry for the late update. It was finals time. Usually, I'm not too worried, but this semester, I have 3 finals all on the same day...yay for me. Anyways, I've been living medieval for the past 10 days-literally. I shut off my phone and had my sister hide my computer so I can study. Also, sorry for this chapter. It's as raw as steak tartare-no re-reading and no editing.

**Chapter 9**

I can't get that last statement out of my head.

_I hope Paul can melt whatever ice you made around your heart._

Ice.

I'm not ice…am I? I'm just…practical.

_So practical that you said you couldn't pencil in falling in love_

That's not what I meant—I think. No, that's not what I meant.

"Darling? Dinner's heated up. If you don't hurry, Pappy's going to hoard all the chicken," Mom said through the door.

I opened the door to Mom's smiling face on the other side. Her smile faltered when she saw my expression.

"Uh oh," she said. "Should I tell Pappy to leave the chicken and bring his calculator or is it something in my area of expertise?"

"Leave Pappy with his chicken."

Mom sat down on swivel chair. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Am I ice?" I asked without preamble.

"Ice as in cold-hearted? Of course not, what makes you think that?"

"Someone just said I had ice around my heart," I told her, relieved. Two things Mom can't do: cook and lie.

Mom winced. "You're not cold-hearted, darling…"

"But….?"

"Honey, the past couple of months changed all of us," Mom patted my hand. "You've just been more distant. Not to us of course, but you don't socialize as much anymore. You always take Tempest's invite for vacations."

"I don't like the alps," I grumbled.

"Watching you, you seem like you're just observing the world through a microscope, intent but aloof."

"I don't—I socialize! I—don't like alps!" I sputtered. "Mom! You're suppose to be on my side!"

"I'm always on your side, honey," Mom soothed. "I'm telling you this because I love you. You're not cold-hearted, you never could be. But now, it's like you don't want to bring anyone into your life. Jonathan said you'll warm up on your own but…I'm just glad you realize it yourself." She looked sadly at me, guilt evident. "Maybe it's a good thing someone else noticed. We never realize whats wrong with ourselves, after all."

"Yea," I added lamely. "You're not the one they call ice."

"Then prove them wrong."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. He's gone from our lives. Pappy and I are moving on, so should you or he's won. Have fun; live your life! Have sex!"

I almost choked on my own spit. "Mom!"

"What?" she asked innocently.

"I'm never telling you anything again!" I scrambled off the bed heading for the door.

"Darling, it's only human nature!" she laughed, following me downstairs.

Pappy looked up from his _Times_. "What's human nature?"

"Nothing, darling," Mom answered quickly. It's one thing to talk sex with your mom, it's another to tell your father you had sex or were even thinking about it. That's why to this day, Pappy still thinks I'm the prude from his flesh. Mom looked at me pointedly. "Have fun, Ava."

Fun. Does that include jumping headfirst into an alternate Wonderland?

I have a feeling I'd find out even if I didn't want to.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

I never seem to learn.

He stared back, toffee eyes never leaving my form.

We were standing awkwardly outside Emily's house after that talk. It started with one simple phone call; ONE! Then I was invited over and the Quileute men seem to be there all the time; Paul included.

He leaned his back against the tree, shoeless. He seemed so comfortable out in the open. Nothing seems to phase him yet he still seems aware of his surroundings. Not surprising since he turns into a ginormous predator at will.

I miss the days when I thought I only saw Fenrisulfr.

"What is that?" Paul suddenly spoke, his voice echoing in the silence.

"Huh?" Smart, right?

"Fen-fenner-something. You called me that in the library too." He waited for my answer, actually interested in my response. Most people tend to tune me out when I start spouting trivia but Paul actually heard and remembered my embarrassing regurgitation of facts.

"Fenrisulfr. He was the Great Wolf in Norse Mythology," I told him. "He was prophesied to kill Odin, the king of the Norse Pantheon until they tricked him and locked him up."

"Why did you call me that?"

I looked at his feet; they were bare. "When I first saw the wolf, that was the first thing that came to mind. Your eyes were the same color as the wolf I ran into with my car…which I guess was you anyways," I shrugged. I started, looking into the face. "Oh my God, I hit you with my car! Are you ok?"

His eyes turned amused and his lips curled into a small smile. "Not a scratch." I sighed in relief. I don't need his broken ribs on my conscience. "You looked beautiful that night."

"Um…it was raining," I stated at a loss for words.

"Yea."

I tried to look anywhere but at him, my cheeks feel heated. It's weird being complimented on something I don't have. I mean, I know I'm smart; I'm pragmatic and practical; I'm good in crisis—ok, other people's crisis—but I've never seen myself as beautiful. Cute, maybe, but beautiful? No. Especially not by a guy like him. A guy to looks like the _kouros_ statues, a representation of the ideal youth. I couldn't help sneaking a glance, only to meet his gaze again.

"So," I cleared my throat. "I took my pills and we could discuss our situation, whatever it is."

He stepped forward from his lax position leaning against a tree. It's easily seen that Paul was a big man, broad shouldered and barrel-chested. The sudden movement just reinforced my awareness to how big he was and how small I am compared to him; how weak. A frown marred his features and his jaw was tight, but his eyes were only concerned.

"The pills. What are you taking?"

"Librium, for anxiety."

"Did I—," he swallowed hard. "Did you get that after you found out?" I only nodded slowly. His face crumbled in sadness before it darkened and he looked away.

"It's not your fault, really," I added. Something in me wanted, no needed, to comfort him; to see that look wiped from his face forever. Something in me wanted him to smile. Reaching out, I tilted his head so I could meet his eyes. "The doctor said it was _all_ the stresses I've been through lately, not just you and this whatever-this-is."

His hand came up to cover mine. My hand warmed instantly between his skin. He stared down at me. Looking into his eyes, I never felt so small, so frail, so completely…protected. We stayed that way for I don't know how long, but he never tired of looking at me and I didn't pull away. I just…couldn't pull away.

"You're my imprint, Ava," his jaw moved under my hand. "Wherever, whenever, whatever; I'll be there. I can't not be."

"I—I don't know how this is suppose to go," I told him truthfully. I owe him that much. "You're an unknown factor suddenly thrown into my life. You're so different that I don't know how I'm suppose to go about this."

His hand tightened. "Give me a chance," his eyes pleaded even though his voice was even. "I just need you to believe I won't fuck this up."

Faith. Can I have faith in him? Looking into his eyes, I couldn't tell him that I see a life of chains. If I give in to this madness, I'll be stuck with him till the day one of us dies. I had plans and in his depths I see them going up in flames. How can you hurt someone that looked at you like you're his goddamn dream come true? How do you tell him that you shudder at the words 'house' and 'wife'?

"Can we just be friends?" I suddenly blurted out.

He blinked slowly, as if gathering his thoughts. "Friends?" he said in disbelief.

"Friends. Buddies. Amigos. Homeboy. Dawg. Homie-G's," I elaborated. "We'll just get to know each other. Friends?"

"If that's what you want," he finally grumbled. "Friends."

"Great!" I beamed up at him, ignoring the nagging feeling that this will blow up in my face soon. For now, crisis averted. "Let's go back in." I turned to head back toward the house, feeling him fall into step beside me.

"Friends," he tested the word. "With benefits?"

I froze, looking at him to see if he was serious. His face was unchanged but there was a slight quirk of the corner of his lips and I relaxed. "The only benefit you'll be getting is from my superior brain, my _friend_."


	11. Chapter 10

Finals are OVER! I slept for 24hours straight after my last exam. Word of advice to experimental students: DO NOT, under any circumstances, mix coffee, hot chocolate, and rocky road ice cream. I repeat: DO NOT!

**Chapter 10**

"Are you getting use to the idea now?" Kim asked gently, handing me a cup. I peered pass the rim to find hot chocolate. I was at Emily's house again, getting acquainted with the rest of the…pack…while Paul was away on patrol.

Ice…ice my gluteus maximus!

It was a low-key atmosphere, at least for Kim and I. From what I understand, Emily was forcing some of the younger members to finish their homework.

"Thanks. I'm just going to pretend they're into weird animal worship until I can get myself to believe it," I confessed.

Kim nodded understandingly. "We all took some time before it really sunk in. At least you're still here."

"How did you—," I waved a hand to encompass the whole bizarre situation.

"Me? Well, I had a crush on Jared since forever," Kim explained. "Then he came back after a two weeks absence looking all buff and sexy and when he turned to ask me for a pencil," Kim shrugged. "Imprinted. We've been together ever since."

"And you've never wanted anyone else. To have the freedom to choose?"

"I don't need anyone else and if I had the freedom to choose, I'd have chosen Jared anyways."

"What about all the other women?"

"Emily was single but her story is a little too complicated. Mag's went a little crazy. She's with Seth but attending NYU. She literally left the reservation and headed for Seattle when Seth told her. But she came back." Kim smiled softly at me. "In the beginning, I think we all pretend to hate the phenomenon because it takes away our freedom of choice. But really, we're just scared that something so wonderful could be true; that it's possible to find the one person that loves us unconditionally and wholeheartedly."

"Conditioned to openly despise romance while secretly yearning for it?" I ventured, laughing at the comment.

Kim laughed. "Exactly. I mean, how many women are tough and hardworking only to come home and curl up on the sofa with a bodice-ripper?" A howl suddenly ripped through the air, cutting off our conversation, followed by yips and growls. Kim turned to me, her face brightened by the huge smile. "They're back. Breathe, Ava, breathe."

"I'm breathing," I mumbled but I couldn't help my body stiffening a little. The howls turned into deep laughter and shouts. One voice rose above the rest and was easily discernible to my ears.

A body appeared and pushed open the sliding doors. Kim bounced toward the figure before he enveloped her into a tight hug. Jared, no doubt. Another solid body appeared behind Jared, slightly shorter with the last traces of baby fat in his features.

"Hey, Ava," Colin greeted, blocking the door. I heard instant shuffling and some thumps from behind him. "Paul's putting his pants on," he laughed. I cracked a small smile. There was a short growl before Colin wandered away and Paul's brawny body filled the opening. The sight of him never ceased to amaze me and I readily drank in his bare skin and corded muscles.

_Friends, you idiot! Friends!_

But my friend's totally attractive.

His features were solemn and tight. If it weren't for that slight upward twitch of his lips, I'd have thought he hadn't wanted to see me. We're on a trial basis, if you will: friendship. Practically nothing can screw up a friendship. He headed for the seat next to me. Heat radiated from him even though there was a good couple inches of space between us.

"Hey," I ventured.

"Hey yourself," he rumbled quietly. "Why are you here?" His questions held no blame, only a weary curiosity. Understandable; he was probably remembering all the times I freaked out when their situation was brought up, why would I voluntarily subject myself to it again?

"Systematic desensitization," I replied. "Hopefully, the longer I'm around you guys, the less freaked out I'll be. I'm going to have to get use to it anyways, right buddy?"

He waited a few seconds before nodding. Then, we were quiet. Oddly, I felt no need to fill the silence. I didn't have to impress him and he was certainly impressive enough without his shirt. Only the faint whooshing of his breathing was audible along with the occasional grumbles and cursing coming from the living room. There was a slight change in the air before the broiling heat of his hand fell gently on mine.

"Would you like to go to dinner?" he whispered, eyes facing forward, body taut as if prepared for rejection.

I studied my hand under his. The paleness of my skin, completely hidden by his own tanned limb. Something in me pushed, nudged, and coerced until I turned so our palms touched and laced my fingers through his. The whiteness was glaring as it interspaced his dark digits. I looked up to find his eyes lightened with surprise. Friends hold hands, right? And go to dinner too?

"I would," I told him with a tentative smile. "I really would."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're looking a little green there," I observed, shifting my car into park. "You ok?"

Paul was out of the vehicle before I could get the key from the ignition. "You almost killed us!" he gasped.

"What are you talking about? We weren't going to crash."

His eyes widened. "You almost ran over the dude on the motorcycle," he squawked.

"I saw him. He was just going too slow," I defended myself.

"He was going 80!"

"On an open road! What kind of an idiot goes 80 when there's no one in front of him?" I locked the car and headed toward the diner. It's not my problem his stomach can't handle it. I'm a great driver; never crashed once.

"The speed limit was 65! This is why women shouldn't be allowed on the road."

I glared over my shoulders. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," he said innocently, or as innocent as he could be. That man probably hasn't been innocent since he hit puberty.

"That's what I thought."

We entered the diner and was quickly seated. It was a typical diner with cracking booth seats and worn tabletops. Even the snippets of conversation were mundane but oh so normal: last night's game (The ref don't know how to do his job!), the kids (Eric's just getting over the flu and now Susan has it.) and the family pet (Mrs. Fluffy coughed up a hairball the size of a baseball in my boot!). Very _Happy Days_, if I do say so myself.

The waiter came up to us with a smile. "Hey, what can I get you?"

"The bacon cheeseburger, rare, with fries. A prime rib plate, with the garlic mash potatoes and a meatloaf special with the chicken noodle soup," Paul ordered. I stared at him. There's no way he can eat all that.

"And for the pretty lady?"

"Huh? Oh, I'll just have the garden omelet, please, with rye toast."

"Comin' right up!" The waiter flashed us a smile again before leaving with our orders.

I turned back to Paul, only to find him glaring at the waiter's retreating form. Surprisingly, the waiter didn't burst into a pile of ash.

"Are you really going to eat all that you ordered?"

"Of course," he answered as if it wasn't out of the ordinary. "I'm hungry."

"Even if someone was starving they wouldn't eat that much."

"I'm special," he replied with a smirk.

"Special ed."

"That hurts, right here," he placed a hand over his heart.

"You're over 6 feet and could probably bench press a Hummer. I don't think I can do anything to hurt you."

"It wasn't a Hummer, it was a Camry," Paul said as if it was perfectly normal for men to lift cars. "And you're the only one I would gladly let hurt me." The look he gave me was so earnest I flinched. My mind didn't want to contemplate the significance of his remark.

I cleared my throat. "So…Camry. Did you all of a sudden go, 'I think it'll be fun to lift my car'?"

"Nah. Jared said he could lift his mom's Bug. One thing let to another and I lifted Emily's Camry." He cocked his head to one side, like a dog would. "You know, I never lifted a Mercedes before."

"You touch my car and I'll neuter you," I warned. "And trust me, if I can do it to a cadaver, I can do it to you."

Paul stared at me wide-eyed, as if unable to processed that I could possibly threaten him. The waiter came back with our meal. Actually he had to make another trip back since Paul ordered so much. After he had all our food on the table, he placed a chocolate shake in front of me.

"Excuse me, I think there's been a mix-up. I didn't order a shake."

The waiter winked and his smile was dazzling. "On the house."

Paul actually growled and the waiter hurried away.

"Stop it!" I told him. "Leave the poor waiter alone."

His eyes snapped back to me and he scowled. "He shouldn't be looking at you like that."

"He was being nice." I sipped my beverage. Mmmmhhhh…chocolate—life is good.

"He was checking you out," he all but growled.

"You're being paranoid," I sighed.

He didn't say anything, only stabbing into his prime rib with a vengeance. There was a silent awkward moment. I'll be damned if I cave first. Paul finished his prime rib before I was even a quarter through with my omelet.

"Why'd you come here on vacation?" he finally asked, bringing up a neutral topic as a sign of good faith.

"Just thought it would be good for us to get away for a while," I replied, not getting into the whole situation.

"Were you guys 'roughin' it' or something?"

"Or something," I smiled.

"And you picked Forks, Washington out of all places?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"No. Jonathan said he has a summer house in Washington. So, mom being the impulsive optimist that she is, accepted without even asking where in Washington." I squirted ketchup onto my hash brown. "My dreams of going to Miami were dashed when we were heading North on the highway towards Oregon."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't go to Miami."

"Me too. I still haven't lost the freshman 15." I gazed longingly at the hash brown, finally remembering my resolution to lose the college weight. "You want my potatoes?"

Paul glanced between me and my plate. "Why? You were about to eat it."

"Freshman 15," I said like it should be obvious. "Or 20, in my case."

"You look perfect to me." He leaned sideways, pretending to scan my whole body. "Nothing wrong with what I'm seeing."

"That's because I'm wearing winter clothes."

"Hey, if you want to take your clothes off around me, I'm fine with that," he grinned, revealing two rows of extremely white teeth.

"Not in this lifetime."

"You know, one of these days, you're going to beg me to take your clothes off," Paul said casually.

I couldn't help the blood rushing to my face while I tried to sputter out a reponse. None was forthcoming.


	12. Chapter 11

I didn't have time to looks this chapter over in detail. Sorry in advance for any inconsistencies, spelling, tenses, etc. Anyways, let's get this party started!

**Chapter 11**

Do you ever notice that when you can name something and categorize it, you can easily forget about it and go on with your lives? When a relationship is defined, you know what it is you're dealing with and you know the parameters, it lulls you into a sense of security such that you start letting your guard down. You start lowering the walls and talking. Your future, your hopes, your dreams, pet peeves, hates, dislikes, even art.

That's right: Paul and art. Ok, more like ceramics and sculpture, but you can imagine my surprise when Paul brought over a bouquet of flowers, complete with a vase he made himself.

"You made this?" I traced the intricate spirals and curlicues that make up the rounded belly. It was a soft opalescence pink and purple. I glanced at his hands, wondering how something so large and strong could make something as delicate as the vase I'm holding. The bouquet of yellow tulips a bright contrast against the gentler vessel holding them. "It's beautiful."

"Thanks. Thought I shouldn't show up empty handed," he mumbled, eyes shifting to look behind me.

"It's just my parents. They already know you're a friend." I placed the vase in the middle of the dinner table. "Trust me, if Pappy thinks there's something more between us, you'd be smelling fire and brimstone."

Paul was about to say something when voices reached us. Mom and Pappy quickly followed. Mom stopped short, staring up at Paul before she broke into a smile.

"Hello, Paul, It's nice to meet you," Mom reached out and pulled an unsuspecting Paul into a hug. "We've heard so much about you. Good things, all of them."

"Thanks, Mrs. Moore—I mean, Dr. Moore."

Mom waved aside the formality, "Just call me Bridgette, dear. And that's my husband, Joe."

Paul stood stoically as Pappy gave him a measured look before holding out a hand to shake.

Oh crap! The Handshake. Train wreck, train wreck. I watched helplessly as Paul reached out his own hand. I try to catch his eye, trying to tell him to shake hands like he means it. Paul was only focused on Pappy. Pappy was surprised at first when his skin came in contact with Paul's. But thank all that's holy when Pappy's face lost its guardedness.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," Paul rumbled grimly.

"You too, Paul. We were just deciding where to go. What are you up for? Mexican or Italian?"

"I eat anything," he shrugged. He edged his way towards me as Mom and Pappy debated burritos and pasta. "I'm alive right?" he mumbled, watching my parents bicker.

"I totally forgot to tell you about the Handshake," I told him sheepishly. "But you did great anyways."

"What handshake?"

"Pappy judges other males by their handshakes," I whispered to him. "He never approved of my previous boyfriends because they shook hands like a girl."

"I passed, right? Your dad likes me?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Paul. My dad likes you."

He sighed in relief before a small grin appeared. "I passed the parent obstacle. Now I just need you to admit you like me."

"I do like you," I told him. "You're great eye-candy." There was a moment of silence and I started worrying if I went too far.

Suddenly, Paul broke into a sly grin. "You think I'm gorgeous."

"It's just the muscles," I mumbled, fighting the blush that threatens to overtake me.

"You think I'm gorgeous, you want to hug me, you want to smooch me, and love me and give me a back rub," he sing-songed.

I slapped him upside the head. Not that he felt it or anything but it just made me feel better. "Keep quoting _Miss Congeniality_, Paul, and I swear—,"

"Avalon! You should treat your guests better than that!" Mom rushed over.

"His head's so thick, he doesn't feel a thing," I explained. "Watch!" I hit Paul again, the slap loud and audible.

"Hey!" Paul said indignantly. "Don't harm the merchandise."

"Not like anyone wanted it when it was in mint condition."

"Children," Mom warned.

"Don't worry about them, Bridge," Pappy came up. "Paul looks like he could go a couple rounds with Tyson."

"Still—,"

"Where are we going?" I quipped.

"Mexican," Pappy replied.

"Great! Margaritas, all around!" I ushered everyone out the door. "Paul, you nitwit! You blocking my car!"

"Sor—ry! Jeez, I didn't know we were going out to dinner!" He raced pass, getting into his Ford pickup and backed out our driveway. Getting out, he stopped short when he saw Pappy and Mom getting into the back seat. A pained expression appeared on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"You're driving."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The trick is to not look out the window, son," Pappy advised sagely, handing Paul a bottle of Corona.

"Easier said than done," Paul grumbled, chugging half the bottle in one gulp. "Does she always drive like that?"

Pappy nodded. "Just like her mother."

"I can hear you, you chauvinistic, pus-boiled, vile pigs."

"Hey! I don't know what that all means, but I know it's not nice!"

"We're pigs, kid."

I rolled my eyes, taking a sip from my margarita; virgin of course. Mom looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes and a small smile. She tipped her head toward Paul, asking a non-verbal question. I shook my head.

Mom's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Why not? He's quite handsome."

"We're friends, Mom." I don't want to explain to my mother that through some weird cosmic doo-hickey, Paul and I are stuck with each other. Forced affection does not a relationship make. Mom was about to say something more but then our food arrived.

"So," Paul started. "Ava told me you guys came here on vacation. Was it too hot down in California or something?"

"Don't get me started," Pappy said, exasperated. "It's all Bridgette's fault. I wanted to stay in California, maybe head over to Napa Valley. Do a little wine tasting, eat a little cheese, enjoy the fruits of illegal immigration. Instead, we end up in the state with perpetual rain."

"Eat your burrito," Mom snapped.

"Yes, dear," Pappy obeyed. Paul caught my eyes, amusement shining through in his warm depths.

"What my dear husband meant to say is that our therapist offered us the use of his summer home and I took it. Jonathan was so sweet to have offered."

"Only cause even _he_ doesn't want to come up," I mumbled. Countering Mom's glare with an innocent look, I stuffed my mouth with rice.

"Therapist?" Paul looked at all of us, the corners of his lips starting to turn down.

"Well, Jonathan was my therapist during the whole catastrophe with Christopher Zergla."

"Christopher Zergla?" Paul's eyes started darkening.

"Mom, your enchilada's getting cold," I interrupted.

"Yes, he was a big fan at first. We thought nothing of it, fans can get a little overwhelming but they're harmless, usually."

"Mom, seriously, your plate is—,"

"Then Zergla became scary. He started stalking us. We were in a terrible state."

Pappy nodded his head seriously. "The man was crazy. The police said he was an erotomaniac. He sent photos, messed up our cars, even with all the security, he somehow got through them. Ava knocked him on his head several times and he still kept on coming."

"Margarita? Any one want another round? I do, where's that waiter?"

"It got to the point where we had to screen every piece of mail and phone call, we couldn't do our jobs without looking over our shoulders," Mom sighed.

"You came here to get away from him?" Paul's rumble was a little on the scary side.

"Oh no. He's gone now, to Singapore, after Ava threatened him with jail time." Pappy took a swig from his bottle. "I don't know how Ava did it, but she did. Then he fled from the scene."

Paul turned his eyes toward me and I winced. The fierceness of them made me feel small, like a kid caught with a bag of brand new Milanos and in the process of devouring them.

"Did the cops ever catch him?"

Pappy shook his head. "Out of jurisdiction. Only when he sets foot on U.S. soil can they charge him."

"But he's gone," Mom added. "That's all we need to know. Afterward, Jonathan offered us his house and here we are. It's a breath of fresh air, a new start."

Our waiter came up. "Another round?"

"Your timing sucks," I grumbled. The rest of dinner went as smoothly as it could be after that. Paul lost his easy-going charm he had in the beginning. Even my plan of sacrificing one of my fajita tacos to try to entice him back into a good mood failed. The parental units were a little tipsy on the drive home but they got up the steps just fine, leaving me alone with the disgruntled wolf-man. "Some dinner, huh?"

The muscle of his jaw twitched as the full weight of his gaze was turned on me.

"Stalker? Maniac? Do you know what they both have in common?"

"They're the same?" I asked, confused.

"DANGER!" Paul spat out. He went into a flurry of motion. He paced angrily back and forth, clenching and unclenching his hands. His body was shaking, no, humming; you can't see the individual motion but you can tell he's moving. "You were in danger! You _put _yourself in danger by being alone with him! Did you think? At all?"

"I know you're not implying I'm stupid," I ground out, trying to keep my own anger from flaring. "Why are you so angry? You weren't even there!"

"That's right, I'm not there! That doesn't mean you can just go and throw yourself in danger. I'm not even implying you're stupid; I'm saying it now. You were stupid! God! What if he held you hostage? He obsessed over your mother, not you. He could have killed you."

"Gee, Paul. In all my planning, being held hostage never crossed my mind," I said, not even trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice. "Spending a couple thousand on security measures never flit through my simple head since, you know, my female mind just doesn't have the capacity for that. Having my phone fitted with a GPS and emergency code never even came up. Collaborating with my best friend, whose family owns Melbourn Security, wasn't even an option. Then Tempest, who's obviously female, couldn't have two six feet, 230 pound body guards as backup because girls just don't think that way. You're right, Paul, I obviously don't know what the hell I was doing since I walked in there with a sign on my forehead saying 'abduct me'!"

I didn't even bother to wait for his answer. I just spun around and stomped up the porch. I slammed the door behind me, knowing it was childish but it didn't even release some of the burning inside me. Leaning against the door, I took deep breaths to try and calm the maelstorm in my head. There came a muffled rip. A few seconds later a sharp howl pierced the night.


	13. Chapter 12

Little bits of wisdom I've recently learned:  
1. Hookah: no matter how hard you try, you just can't make it look as badass as The Caterpillar.  
2. Cluck U's 911 challenge: not because it's illegal, but because you need them to write 'Dead on Arrival'.  
3. Corsets: doesn't make you skinnier, they make your boobs look bigger.  
4. Mothers: the reason why six-car pile-ups occur.  
5. Editors: procrastinating pain-in-the-bums that only do a good job when they like what you're writing.

**Chapter 12**

He hasn't called. Communication between us has been nonexistent. Every night I check to see if Paul's truck was still on our pavement. I started walking towards the window to see if the loud, clunky thing was still guarding the sidewalk.

"Darling, just call him for Pete's sake," Mom advised, peering over the top of her glasses.

"Why?" I switched my initial route of heading to the window to the stove in pretense of getting tea. Damn that idiot for leaving his car like a giant effigy for the past four days. His car can get jacked for all I care.

Mom's only answer was a sigh. The 'rents conked out when they got home after dinner so the whole debacle between Paul and I was staying between us.

Not that I was waiting for him to come pick it up so I can see him or anything.

_No, you're only checking every five minutes to see if the ice cream truck is coming._

Shut. Up.

"Well, you should at least call and thank him for the lovely vase he spent time on," Mom tried again.

I snorted. "Please. He probably spends more time on some masculine action figures of the latest Marvel superhero, not for the aesthetic beauty of a long-neck vase. It was probably last minute anyways."

"There's no talking with you when you're in a mood," Mom sighed, closing her laptop and headed upstairs.

"Bah humbug," I mumbled, stirring honey into my tea. When Mom's footsteps faded from the stairs, I pulled the curtains aside to peer out the window. The rusty, mechanical monster of Paul's was still there.

I wonder how long a car can stay parked before I can have it towed…

I almost sloshed tea on meself when my Blackberry vibrated in my pants. Who the heck calls at eight in the morning on a Saturday? I looked at the glowing screen. Oh, I know who.

"Let me guess," I teased without preamble. "It's dinnertime in the Alps?"

"Ava," came Tempest's smoky voice. The seriousness in her tone made me sit up straight. Tempest never calls me by my name unless it's something serious. "Your house alarm went off this morning around four."

"Wha?" I asked, the information not sinking in.

"Someone broke into your house," Tempest simplified. "I just got a notice an hour ago. I had people sent over to your house but the police already checked it out."

"I need to get home," I suddenly said. I still can't believe it's possible. Regular burglary is plausible, but not where we lived and especially not with our security system. My thoughts jumped to my parents. They just got through a crisis and now there's another one. "Did anyone send my parents anything?"

"Not yet. I can tell them to hold off on it if you want."

"Do it."

"But the cops will call soon," she added.

"Not if I call them first." I flipped open my laptop and searched for the phone number of the local police station around our house. "Damn it! How am I suppose to find a reason to go back to California?"

"That reminds me," Tempest's voice lost some of it's previous seriousness. "What the hell are you doing in…2589 Maple Ave., Forks, Washington, 98331?"

"Dude, this GPS thing is scary."

Tempest scoffed. "Honey, the CIA and FBI get their stuff from us. If you only knew what kind of things we're testing—,"

"I'd rather not," I interrupted. "I want no part in this breach of national security."

"Oh, you're no fun." I can totally see Tempest's pout. Funny how friends can diffuse even the most tense and nerve wracking situations. "Tell them I brought you a potential boyfriend back from Switzerland."

"This is so not funny, Temp. My house was broken into!"

"Well, what other reason would have you come back to California on such short notice?"

"I don't know," I pinched the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oncoming headache. "I'll think of something."

"Think quick. There's a flight leaving today at 4:20 from Seattle. I already e-mailed the ticket to you and Kolya will pick you up at the airport. You're staying at my place when you're back in the state."

"You have no idea how grateful I am right now," I sighed.

"Forget it, Arthur, what's a few favors among friends?"

"Does that make you the grumpy old Merlin?" I shot back. "I'm going to call the cops now before they catch my parents on their cell."

I checked to make sure Mom was busy with her writing and Pappy was still snoring before I dialed the Berkeley police station. Just in time too, they were about to call Pappy's cell. It was a burglary resulting in a broken window and half the neighborhood waking up because of the blaring Melbourn Security alarm system. Apparently, they have taken all the fingerprints and photos they want already. All that's left was for me to see if anything was stolen when I get home.

Now for phase two of my dastardly plans.

"Hey, Mom?" I peered into her 'study'.

"Yes?"

"Temp and Mrs. Melbourn just got back to California," I fibbed. "She wants to meet me."

Mom looked up from her screen, a frown on her face when I mentioned Temp's mom. "Are you sure? Lord knows how many times that flighty woman says she wants lunch only to cancel last minute." Mom never met Mrs. Melbourn and she vowed she never want to after the first three cancellations right when I was about to head out to meet her.

"Mom, Georgiana isn't that bad," I soothed, hoping she'll buy it. "She's really, very nice. A little shallow but what can you do?"

Mom gave an unladylike snort. "How Tempest turned out so well, I'll never know. You'd think with all the advantages that woman had, she'd have some sense in that bleached head of hers."

"Dang, Mom, someone's getting catty."

"If you must go, go," Mom sighed. "And dust the house a little will you, dear? Or call in Rosa if you're too busy."

"Will do." Note: call Rosa, the cleaning lady; find window replacement; fix locks; and hush up the break in with the neighbors and the cops. "When Pappy wakes up, tell him I'm flying back for a few days. If he wants anything from the house, he better call quick."

I only packed my computer case and a tote with all the essentials: wallet, Blackberry, _Jane Eyre_, keys, iPod and a print out of the ticket number Tempest sent. I mean, that's all anyone really needs to survive, right? By lunch time, I was doing over a hundred on the highway to Seattle. _Ubi non authoritatem, ibi non judex_1 and all that. Or in simple American: it's only illegal if the cops are there.

I got to the gate just in time too. Even without baggage, it takes a while to actually set foot inside a plane post 9/11. All through the ride, I was making a mental to-do list. First and foremost: the police. Then, I have to get the house fixed and cleaned up so it looked like nothing happened. I hope they caught the scum that broke into our house. We live in Nut Hill2 for heaven's sake! It's suppose to be safe.

True to her word, Kolya was there. Mid 50's with close-cropped, dark hair, the ex-officer stood motionless a few yards from the metal detectors. His feet were planted firmly with both his hands clasped loosely in front of him. His face looked bored, masking a highly tactical brain and sharp instincts. Steel gray eyes glanced here and there but took in every detail, from the guard sniffling due to allergies to the little girl in a green dress leaving a half-eaten lollipop in her mother's _Louis Vuitton_.

Relief washed over me at the familiar sight of his figure. Tempest has known Kolya her entire life. I thought he was just her bodyguard at first but it was something deeper than that. At times, Kolya does act as her bodyguard but his primary job was to Melbourn Security as a trainer. Of what, I don't even want to know. Tempest once told me that Kolya use to be a member of the Spetsnaz; the Russian equivalent to the Green Berets. It's not hard for my own imaginations to fill in the blanks on what Kolya trains. But if Tempest gets in trouble, he is the one that shows up. Kolya is number two on Tempest's speed dial. She trusts him with her life and in turn, so do I. He was one of two bodyguards hidden when I confronted Zergla.

"Good to see you, Ava," Kolya nodded, the ends of his thin lips curling slightly into a smile.

"You too, Kolya." I didn't bother starting small talk; Kolya doesn't do small talk. To him, economy is taken to a whole new level. I followed his smooth gait to the car, stopping for a second when we exited the Oakland airport.

Oh my God. I can see the sun.

If the circumstances weren't so dire, I swear I would've went on my knees and kissed the ground. Shaking myself from my stupor, I jogged to where Kolya was waiting by his black Lexus. Only when we were heading North on 880 did he fill me in on what was happening.

"Temp told me what happened," he started. "You need to talk to the police today. Tomorrow morning, I will go with you to see if they took anything. When I looked it over, it does not seem like anything was missing. The _mudilo_3 smashed in the side windows of the door and had it opened but ran before the police got there."

"It doesn't make sense," I added, overlooking his tendency to sprinkle in Russian curses with his English. "I mean, we're in the Berkeley Hills. Burglary isn't a major crime option; maybe auto theft but not burglary. The people that try to rob houses in the Hills need to be smart. They need a plan to get around either the dog or the security system; sometimes even both. Smashing a window just doesn't seem smart."

"Never underestimate, Ava," Kolya said sharply. "I think there is something deeper than just a regular breaking and entering."

"A distraction, maybe? While their partners hit somewhere else?"

Kolya nodded curtly. "A distraction, most likely, but not for just a burglary. There is something we are missing."

I mulled over what he said.

Why my house? Why not the Radcliffe's with their yellow Porsche sitting in the driveway? Why the front door instead of the back? Why leave without seemingly taking anything?

And the trillion-dollar question: what's their motive?

_ non authoritatem, ibi non judex_: Latin. Where no authority, there no law.  
Hill: aka La Loma Park. Residential district in the Berkeley Hills especially popular with the professors of UC Berkeley.  
3._Mudilo_: almost equivalent to 'motherfucker'. If you're Russian and reading this, forgive me if I butchered your language. Feel free to correct me.

**As always, leave a REVIEW please!**


	14. Chapter 13

**Sebastian has left me! Damn that fickle muse! I face the days alone and listless with the editor-hounds snarling at my back and only the dark abyss of Writer's Block before me! Have you readers no mercy upon this poor, word-challenged soul? Mercy, I beg of you! MERCY!!!!**

**Chapter 13**

Looking at my house, I felt a weary sadness overwhelm me. Home is suppose to be the impenetrable sanctuary. The kitchen was where countless (failed) cooking experiments were performed. The dining room was where every Thanksgiving and Christmas (take-out) dinner was held. The living room was where we convened after finals week and speak (ill) of our students/teachers. This is where I did the Soulja Boy dance one bored winter evening.

It doesn't look it now. The front door was ajar, what was once the guardian of all those happy memories, battered and chipped. Shards of glass littered the entryway. Tracks of dirt crossed the threshold onto the oak floors. The police have already stampeded through, taking prints and photos. Part of me wanted to fume and cry at the total invasion of unknown people into my childhood home; the perp and the cops. The more sensible part beat the other part into submission and I locked away the helpless feeling to be pulled out and analyzed later. I had a job to do, dammit, and I will do it.

Kolya has already fixed the alarm. He was watching the laborers replaced our window and the locksmith put in a new lock while I inventory our junk. Believe you me, we have a lot of junk. Mom has a tendency to collect things when she goes on book signings. Her last trip to Australia produced two boomerangs and a didgeridoo1.

I am not kidding.

"Nothing is missing?" Kolya's voice suddenly startled me out of my concentration.

I glance around once more at the living room, paying careful attention to our crystal and china cabinet. "All the crystals are there and the china hasn't been touched. Only other things worth money are the furniture, and maybe the Tiffany lamp, but it's obviously still here."

"Does your mother keep jewelry or gold in the house?"

I shook my head. "The only jewelry my parents keep are their Vacheron Constantine watches and those are on their wrists this very minute." Stretching my back, I sighed when a satisfying crack eased the tension. "Everything in the library is still there, even the dust bunnies. Kolya, everything's screwy."

"Indeed," he agreed. "I checked. There has not been another Melbourn system triggered the same night in the same district. My distraction theory does not hold."

"If I were a thief," I mumbled. "And I only have a few minutes before the system and the cops; I would hit the living room for the crystals or the library for the books. I would pick an entrance closest to my target and since I'm adamant about having my presence known, I would crash through the living room window, grab whatever's of value then leave. For the library, I would break through the library window upstairs. Either way, the front door wouldn't be an option."

"Unless robbery wasn't his intention," Kolya supplied.

I frowned at the thought of a deeper, more sinister motive for a break-in. "Why can't anything be simple?"

"Because life's a _suka_2."

"That's true." I headed towards the stairs. "I'm going to pack some more stuff for my parents. You know where to find me." I saw him nod sharply before slinking off to the other end of the house. I packed a couple of extra jackets, and Pappy's lucky newsboy cap. Lucky for what, I still have no idea. My phone kept vibrating, showing a 360 area code and a number I have never seen before. I had to block that number before sorting through the reference materials in the library, stacking some books that Mom wanted to the side.

Kolya, bless him, dropped off a bag of Inn N' Out. The sight of a cheeseburger and crispy animal-fries suddenly made me realized that I only had toast for breakfast. I ripped into the cheeseburger. It has been several months since I had an Inn N' Out burger. I wanted to savor my meal, to taste the special Inn N' Out spread, the freshly grilled onions, the fresh-never-frozen patty.

But that fulfillment never came. I sat there and chewed and chewed, but it was bland, just like any other burger. Sighing, I finished it because I needed to eat, not because I craved it. Maybe the break-in was bothering me more than I thought.

A sudden ache started. Not muscle ache or anything medical related. I pressed a hand against my chest, feeling my heartbeat. It was almost…heart ache?

I shook my head to clear away that random thought; probably just heartburn. The ache dulled but there was still something tight in my chest. I gave my house one last look, making sure all traces of the break-in were cleared. My parents don't need to have to question their safety again. They don't deserve to have more pressure added on their shoulders. I will take care of it for them.

I texted my landing time to Pappy's phone and told I would be back around nine tomorrow night. Giving my home one last look, I deemed it good as before and got into the Lexus before Kolya drove off.

I mournfully packed my sunglasses back in its case and the dark recesses of my tote. It's kind of redundant to have them on when there is no sun. In a single file line, the passengers trekked down the claustrophobia-inducing hallway from the plane to the airport. Once I was in the actual airport, a slight tightening of my chest started. Rolling my shoulders to try and relieve it, I waited in line to get out of the inner sanctum.

Once I stepped through, I was frozen there in surprised shock. I remembered wondering how he got my landing time before all thought processes seem to stop. I could only stand there with a deer-about-to-be-road-kill expression as he came toward me.

His purposeful stride dramatically decreased the distance between us. His dark brows were drawn and his eyes glinted with barely-contained anger. Those plump lips were pulled down in a tight frown, showing the tension grooves between his facial muscles. I saw a twitch start above his right eye. He was exuding a crackling, malevolent vibe, as if waiting for that proverbial straw to drift onto the camel's back. Paul made a fearsome picture, striding toward me. People actually went out of their way to avoid crossing his path. I barely noticed that Jared and Embry were quick on his heal, sharing worried glances.

Stopping just inches from me, I had to crane my neck to look into his darken eyes. His body hummed dangerously and I knew I was in a precarious situation. For some odd reason, I wanted to feel that hum run through me, even as that ache tightened almost painfully. Before Paul could open his mouth, I had my arms around his trimmed waist, absorbing the heat that smelled faintly of pine and loam. The shaking and vibrations of his taut body slowed until all I could feel was the even rise and fall of his breathing.

As I stood there hugging him, the ache lessened until it was only a memory. His hands fell heavily on my shoulders. Thinking he was going to push my away, I tightened my hold shamelessly. Instead, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me flushed against him. Cocooned in his warmth, I felt my body go lax. The weight of the break-in seemed temporarily lifted and I breathed freely.

It truly felt like we were suspended in time—until Embry opened his mouth.

"Damn, Paul, you're so pussy-whipped."

One of Paul's arms leave me for a second, followed by a loud smack and Embry's yelp. Then I was back in his cocoon, but reality already reared her ugly head and I remembered we were in a public airport. I wriggled out from his arms, picking up my carry-on that I had dropped unceremoniously. One hand gently tugged the luggage from me. However, Paul folded another callused hand around mine, rubbing his thumb rhythmically against my knuckles.

We were silent walking to the elevators. Paul threw Jared the keys and all three exchanged secret guy-looks.

"You sure?" Jared asked.

Paul nodded. "I'll run."

Jared and Embry walked off. Again, in silence, we went to my car. It was only when we were sitting within the confines of my Mercedes that either one of us said anything.

"I don't think we can be friends," he rumbled.

My chest tightened painfully. Was he…leaving me? All because I left for a day—on a very important errand I might add. "What does—where does that leave us then?"

"I don't know," he sighed.

"Then why can't we be friends?" I ventured.

Paul stared at me in disbelief. "You're seriously asking me that." I nodded. "To most normal people, friends have a…a…an impact on their lives. When they go somewhere, it kind of pops up or they call each other and say they're leaving. With you, I feel like a friend is your toy or something: we spend time together, we have fun, but there's nothing deep so you feel it's ok to up and leave without telling me."

Bristling, I narrowed my eyes at him. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission to go home, Paul."

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it," he said heatedly. "I think 'friend' in the Ava-dictionary is just another word for 'acquaintance'. I don't want to be an acquaintance."

I winced and a triumphant spark flashed in his eyes. He knew he was right and even I knew I haven't given him the same considerations I would have any friend a year ago. "Then what do you want to be?" I asked, resigned.

"What do you want me to be?"

"What do you want to be?"

"Whatever you want me to be."

"As much fun as this childish argument is, it will take up the rest of the night," I snapped. "So what the hell do you want to be?"

"Whatever the hell you want me to be," he growled back.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. "Paul, we're not on the same page. I think we're not even reading the same book here. You don't want to be my friend. I get that. So now, you get to come up with the solution as to how you want to insinuate yourself into my life."

He breathed deeply. "Ava, I don't want to be the last-to-know guy and that's what being your friend is: the last one to know. Your parents had to tell me what happened. What if you told your parents not to tell me? I'm pretty sure I wouldn't even have found out." He gave a humorless laugh when he saw the guilty expression on my face. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Paul," I halted, trying to work through the chaos in my mind. "Just tell me and I'll do my best. What do you want to be?"

He faced me fully so there was no possibility for me to look away from his eyes. "I want to be the person you bounce ideas off of; the one you tell things to when you're about to make a decision; the one who's opinions you take into account." His hand cupped my cheek, warming them further. "I want to be the one you think about when you go to bed; the one you can't wait to see everyday; the one you miss so much your heart hurts. I want to matter to you like you do to me."

Paul didn't give me an opportunity to respond. He kissed me. Those plump lips molded against my own, coaxing my mouth to allow him entrance. His hand burned against my jaw and throat, keeping my face turned toward him. My eyes fluttered close as the pleasurable waves coursed from my head to my toes.

I've been existing so long that I was accustomed to the hollow ache in my heart. Bolstered by paranoia and self-righteousness, I kept all new people at a safe, painful distance. It wasn't until now that I realized how much I wanted—needed—someone to fill that ache. Paul was doing that until I went home.

I felt the walls crumble and the hollow inside brightened just a little. That moment, I would have given him anything he asked; my computer, my phone, my car, my social security. I opened my mouth, letting him in.

My hands found their way to his chest as our tongue explored and caressed each other. His heartbeat hammered against my palm before sweeping up to the ridge of his collarbone, the strong column of his neck, the bunching muscles along the jaw and the soft, new fuzz on his scalp.

It was only the burning in my lungs that made me tear my lips away from his to breathe. I inhaled that intoxicating pine scent made more noticeable by the small space and high body heat. Paul didn't stop though. He kissed the corner of my mouth, along my jaw until he reached my ear. I couldn't suppress a shiver as he worried my earlobe. A quick swipe of his tongue soothed the ache after a series of sharp nips.

I don't want to imagine what would have happened if it weren't for the SUV honking somewhere behind us. I pulled back, enough to look into his eyes that lightened from toffee to a creamy butterscotch. He still had his hand against my face and his thumb gently stroked along my cheekbone.

"Be my heart," I heard myself whisper.

The smile Paul gave me can counteract a black hole and his massive formed pulled me into a tight hug. He hugged me like a drowning man would a life-preserver. I hugged him back, basking in the aftermath of his amorous assault.

I didn't want to listen to the frenzied voice in the back of my mind. The one that frantically pointed out that Paul wasn't Frenrisulfr, I was. I was Fenrisulfr and he was my Gleipneir3, my own shackle and chain in an innocent package.

I didn't know which was scarier: my sudden realization of my dependence or the fact that a large part of me doesn't care.

1. Didgeridoo: musical instrument of Australian Aborigines made from a long wooden tube that is blown into to create a low drone.  
2. Suka: Russian for 'bitch'.  
3. Gleipneir:a silk ribbon used to imprison Fenrisulfr after he broke the first two metal chains.

**As always, leave a REVIEW please!**


	15. Chapter 14

Sorry about the wait. This chapter just wasn't flowing right. I was trying to flesh out Paul a little more…curst it. It's as good as it's gonna get. Also, sorry in advance if I seem to trivialize or belittle the sacrifices of the U.S. military servicemen/women. That was never my intention.

**Chapter 14**

I would not admit it out loud, even under torture. The truth was, being with Paul was effortless. It was easy to get lost in his eyes, to drown in toffee; to doze off in the warmth and safety his arms provided. The touch of his lips caused flutters in the bottom of my stomach no matter how many times we kissed. It became routine for me to raise my face toward his, waiting for him to bestow a peck, a smooch, a nibble, something to quiet the desire.

_Oh, how the mighty has fallen!_ 1

I couldn't help but agree with my pesky inner voice as I looked out my windshield at the nondescript two-story house. The front door swung open, startling me out of my reverie. Paul's body blocked the doorway for a moment before he headed toward me. I grabbed the gift bag and my purse before he swung my door open and lifted me out. His lips descended on mine, placing a soft kiss of greeting.

"Hey, you sure you want to do this?"

I nodded, clutching the gift bag tighter. "I'm sure. It's only your mother, right?"

"And she'll love you," he assured, kissing me on the cheek. He led me toward his house, a hand against the small of my back. "Sorry about dinner being so early," he said softly. "Mom's got the graveyard shift at the hospital."

"I don't mind," I replied, glancing at the pictures hung on the walls as we crossed the living room. Many depicted outings of Paul's family, some were Paul's yearly school pictures from his elementary school days. I stopped at one picture, a grin unconsciously appearing on my face. There showed Paul, around twelve or so, grinning to split his face despite the absence of two front teeth. "Looked like you lost a fight with your dentist."

With both hands on my shoulders, he steered me towards the kitchen and away from the rest of the pictures. We entered the brightly lit kitchen. A bounty of succulent aromas gave it a homey feel. A large pot was bubbling happily while the teakettle whistled gently in warning.

"Ma?"

I jumped when a dark head popped up from behind the counter top.

"Just checking the pot roast, hon. Oh, you must be Ava!" Paul's mother bustled out from behind the counter. Her figure was diminutive; shorter than my own 5'6" She hugged me to her before I even had a chance to see her. For a small woman she was surprisingly strong. "It's great to finally meet you. I'm Charlotte. Paul talks about you non-stop."

"It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Naziri," I said, a little overwhelmed by her…buoyant attitude. I held out the gift bag. "I'm not sure what you liked."

"Call me Charlotte, hon." Charlotte peered into the bag. "Oh my goodness! That's a huge box of Godiva. Chocolate and makeup are always safest." She smiled; her toffee eyes, exactly like Paul's, crinkling in pleasure. "Paul, set the table, please. Would you like anything to drink, Ava? Tea, milk, water, soda?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Nazir—,"

"Charlotte," she interrupted gently.

"Charlotte," I replied weakly.

I tried helping wherever I could but Charlotte either asked Paul to do it or shooed me away. Charlotte kept up a constant light conversation as she went back and forth, placing dishes on the table. Along with the pot roast there was a huge pot of thick tomato soup, a large garden salad, a fillet of broiled salmon, a pan of baked pasta in a cream sauce, a dish of roasted root vegetables and a basket of soft dinner rolls.

"Are these all for tonight?" I asked, surprised that the table didn't collapse under all that weight.

"Of course," Charlotte laughed. "Paul's good at polishing off the dishes. I thank Emily everyday that I only need to feed him once a day. Pot roast, Ava?"

"Thank you," I replied automatically as she placed a thick slice of protein on my plate. I glance over at Paul's still figure. He was eyeing the food with anticipation however his plate was still empty. "Aren't you getting anything?"

Paul pouted, a mock-hurt look crowding his features. "Ma banned me from taking food first when there's guest over." He continued sulking. "My own mother, denying me food. I'm a growing boy!"

"You snatched the brownie from Peter's plate!" Charlotte retorted.

"I was doing him a favor. He'll get cavities if I hadn't took his brownie," Paul said sagely. "Peter's my cousin," Paul explained when he saw my confused frown. I don't like not being able to follow a conversation.

"His two year old cousin," Charlotte groused, spooning pasta onto my plate. "And on his birthday too. You stole your baby cousin's brownie on his birthday."

"What kind of monster are you?" I gasped dramatically, passing the pasta dish to Paul who eagerly piled it onto his plate.

"I'm the big, bag wolf. Except I'd rather eat what Little Red Riding Hood has in the basket." With that final statement, Paul started shoveling food into his mouth.

"I want to look away, but I can't seem too," I said to no one in particular, watching Paul's fork move rhythmically back and forth between his plate and his mouth.

"Yes. I've been trying to civilized him since he started solid foods," Charlotte added, placing a buttered roll onto my plate. "We'll just leave him to it. My son's useless until he's full."

The rest of dinner continued in similar fashion: light conversation, occasional ribbing of Paul's eating habits, and Charlotte's continuous attempt to put more food on my plate. By the end of dinner, there seriously were no leftovers. When I got up to collect the dishes, Charlotte pulled me back down and had Paul do it. She herself went to get dessert.

"Paul, where's the cake?"

"Cake?" Paul repeated, extremely focused on collecting dishes. "What cake?"

"The cake that was here last night that I specifically told you not to touch," Charlotte glared, arms folded and probably tapping one foot in impatience.

"Oh, that cake," Paul muttered. "Well, see, funny thing. I was…sleepwalking. Yea, sleepwalking and when I woke up, BAM! empty cake dish—right in the freezer."

"How can you eat a whole ice cream cake in the middle of the night? Go to the store and buy us another one," Charlotte ordered.

"Charlotte, it's fine. I'm still full from your wonderful meal," I tried to help.

"Nonsense," Charlotte told me, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove. "Paul, go get another cake—and don't eat this one," she warned.

Paul slunked off, muttering under his breath. He dropped a kiss on top of my head before going out the sliding doors into their backyard.

"You didn't need to send him for another cake, Charlotte. I'm not a big dessert person anyways," I lied.

Charlotte waved it off, her mood back to being cheerful as she took out cups and teabags and placed them on a tray. "He needs to learn to keep his stomach in check or there will be consequences. Plus, this gives us more time together."

I followed her as she settled in the living room. She handed me a steaming cup before pouring herself another one. We sipped in silence as I nervously looked around the room, paying attention to the pictures on the mantle I had missed on my first walk-through. Even though the rest of the room had pictures ranging from school to vacation photos, the mantle above the fireplace was reserved for one person.

The photo showed a copper-skinned man, his inky hair cut as short as Paul's was. He was clad in the full dress uniform of the U.S. Marine Corps, the white cap held to his side under one arm as he grinned widely at the camera. Next to the photo rested a silver medal in a propped-up velvet box.

"Is that Mr. Naziri?"

Charlotte turned towards where I was looking. Her smile dimmed a little and her eyes misted slightly. "Gabriel," she sighed.

"Is he overseas?" I asked gently.

Charlotte shook her head. "Not anymore," she whispered. "Killed in the line of duty."

I winced.

_Smart move, Einstein. Let's comment on the woman's dead military husband._

"I'm so sorry for you lost," I stuttered out. "He must have been extremely courageous to have been decorated."

Charlotte sniffed, trying to compose herself before turning back to me with a smile. Still, the sadness already surfaced and wasn't returning to the dark recesses of her heart. "They awarded him a silver star2 on his first trip. Gabe was so happy that night. I was on the phone telling Paul everything; how he walked up the stage, who pinned the medal on…Paul was so proud and excited for his father…He got another medal, after he died, like that made up for his death." Her voice broke with strain, trying to conceal her grief and keeping her tears to herself. "Your husband and father's dead but here's a medal to make up for it. It's all shiny and important," she said bitterly.

Hesitantly, I patted her shoulder. This was an awkward situation. "It must have been horrible."

Charlotte nodded, grabbing a tissue. "Gabe and Paul were so close. They use to go to the comic book store all the time. They went to a convention one weekend and Paul came back in full-out Wolverine regalia. Gabe had bags of comics and dolls—,"

"Action figures," I corrected, gently. Run-ins with superhero obsessed males were quite common at Berzerkeley3, especially when strolling through the Loth4. I learned the hard way that these male subspecies get extremely annoyed and irritated when mis-describing their beloved collectibles.

She gave me a watery laugh. "Yes, action figures. Gabe and Paul always corrected me. Paul was devastated when I told him. He—he phased. Right in the kitchen. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

I stared at her for a moment, processing what she had just divulged. "Paul went wolf in that kitchen?" I pointed behind my shoulders. Charlotte nodded, blowing her nose daintily into the Kleenex. My mind whirled with information. The phone range and Charlotte reached over to grab it.

"Hello?…Yes, Paul." There was indistinguishable chatter coming from the other end. Charlotte held the phone against her shoulder as she addressed me. "Excuse me, Ava. This'll be quick." She headed back to the kitchen, the phone against her ear.

"Shouldn't you know what dessert your imprint likes?" I could hear her side of the conversation quite clearly. Did that still consider as eavesdropping?

"Seriously, hon…you really think she's shallow enough to hate you if you bring home a dessert she doesn't love?…Ok, hurry back then. Love you."

Charlotte hurried back in, placing the phone back on its cradle…only to do a double-take at the digital clock.

"It's nine?! Shoot!" She ran back into the kitchen and rushed back in again. "Um, I'm sorry Ava. I didn't know how late it was getting. I have to get to work, will you be alright waiting for Paul?" she asked, trying to tie her shoes and put on a jacket at the same time.

"Yea, sure. I'll be fine by myself," I assured her, standing to hand her her purse.

"Thank you! And tell Paul to do the dishes, alright? It was wonderful meeting you, dear."

"You too, Charlotte."

Charlotte hugged me and placed a kissed on my cheek before she went out the door. I heard her car start and pull out the driveway.

"That went well," I said to the silence. Left on my lonesome, I brought the tray back to the kitchen and decided to do the dishes instead. There were a lot of dishes that provided a monotonous, repetitive activity where my mind could wander while my body did something productive.

For one thing, this was the first time I heard about Paul's history. It wasn't the fact that he didn't tell me about his family and his history. That I could understand; it was what I did and you can't fault others for what you did yourself. No, what brought the wave of shame was that I didn't even _think_ about Paul's history. I knew his friends, we talk over dinner and just spent time with each other but during all that his father never came up. His childhood wasn't a topic of discussion. And I didn't think to get to know his past.

I saw him as he is: strong, passionate, somewhat clueless, prone to outbursts, paranoid, territorial, a…a wolf. It never crossed my mind that Paul was anything besides that; that he had his own demons, burdens, sadness, regrets. I failed to realize that there are a number of things that made Paul as he is now, not just his shape-shifting situation. What's worse was that this whole revelation should be about Paul, yet somehow it just shed light on my own selfishness. How warped is that?

"What are you thinking about?"

I gasped and dropped the dish into the sink, splashing water onto my shirt. Paul gazed at me, the cake box beside him. There he stood, a stark contrast to the little toothless boy in the living room or the adolescent teenager that lost his father too violently and suddenly.

Staring up at his questioning gaze, I pressed myself against him, soapy shirt and all. I nibbled against his lower lip, asking for entrance he readily gave. It was a slow kiss, an exploring kiss as I tried to reach every crevice of his mouth. For the first time I was kissing Paul, all of him, the man and the wolf. For the first time, I saw Paul as human.

"Maybe I should get cake more often," he joked despite the concerned look in his eyes. "You ok?"

I nodded. "Just missed you. And it was a long night." Resting my head against his neck, I inhaled his warm, pine scent until I was dizzy with it.

So delicately, painfully, mortally human.

And I think I love him for it.

1. How the mighty have fallen.—Bible: New International Version; 2 Samuel 1:27. I tweaked it a little so it's singular instead of plural.  
2. Silver Star—medal awarded to any branch of the armed forces "for gallantry in action against an enemy of the United States not justifying a Service Cross" (Wikipedia)  
3. Berzerkeley—student slang for UC Berkeley  
4. Loth—short for Lothlorien. Area of cooperative living spaces for Berkeley students. Why it's called Lothlorien, I have no idea and neither do my friends.

**As always leave a REVIEW!!**


	16. The Joys of BodiceRippers

So sorry for the lateness, but it wasn't my fault! Seriously! My dad ran over my USB drive-don't ask. I lost 5 years of my academic life and the outline and rough drafts of this story. I've been starting from scratch. Then I have to put up with Writer's Block. Again, so so so so sorry. Anyways, on with the story.**  
**

**WARNING: MATURE, SEXUAL MATERIAL. If you're underaged or premarital sex offends you, DON"T READ! **

**The Joys of Bodice-Rippers  
**

_Love._

_Lust._

_Beasts do no care. They rut when the female is in heat. Only human beings can possibly separate the two. Only the human heart calls for love even though the human blood roil for lust because we are all animals. We are the animals who can feel both love and lust. _

_I gazed at his naked figure, the moonlight turning his skin opalescent; the wicked curve of his mouth, both taunting and indolent. He held out his hand, slim fingers held steady. _

_"Let us rejoice this Beltane night."_

_I took his hand, despite the emptiness in my chest. I took his hand, despite the emptiness in his dark, dark eyes. I took his hand not because my heart sang but because my blood boiled under his scrutiny. _

_As we came together in a kiss, the wind carried the words of my mother to my ears. _

_Love begets lust, but lust can never beget love._

_But lust…gods above lust feels wonderful!_

I turned my head, peeking behind to make sure Paul was still asleep. We were spending a lazy evening at my house. At first, Paul was watching T.V. while I started a new novel. Somehow, I ended up on his lap while he dozed, his thick arms trapping me against him. Not that I was trying to move away or anything but it was an intimate moment. There was…contentment, I suppose. With one last peek at his slumbering face, I went back to my novel.

Like a large majority of the female population, I read romance novels. I'm talking about _those_ novels; the bodice-rippers with cheesy cover art. Sometimes you just have to read something that doesn't require you to think. But, like the majority of the female population, I don't like others to know I actually read them. I do have a reputation to uphold. Therefore, I had to make sure Paul was really out cold before I got to the juicy parts.

I think I was too absorbed in the story because I swear I didn't feel him move. I just got to the part where Aiden and Morwen were naked under the May moon when heated softness was pressed against my jugular.

A response was instantaneous. My body went lax, leaning ever deeper into his embrace. Blood rushed, infusing my limbs even more with warmth when added to his body heat. The sharp nip from teeth pulled a gasp from me even as his tongue, rougher than most, took the edge off the pain. I raised an arm to hold him against me.

"Don't let me interrupt," Paul said against my skin. One arm held me captive around the torso as the other rubbed lazily up and down my arm. "They were getting their freak on."

"You were reading?!" My face flamed as I turned, dislodging his lips in the process. "You were suppose to be asleep!"

"I woke up," he said innocently despite the wicked twinkle in his eyes. "I wanted to know why you were wriggling in my lap. Now I know." Gently, Paul moved my chin forward then turned a page. He kissed me behind the ear. "Read to me."

My mind was slightly fogged by pleasure but I did as I was told, lifting the novel up until I can make out the letters through my Paul-induced haze.

"_His gray eyes slowly trailed up my body and I shivered_," I started. "_Strong fingers skimmed the worn cotton between my breasts to untie my dress; exposing my bosoms to his tou_—ohh…"

Paul had unbuttoned my shirt, mimicking the actions in the novel. His large hand snaked under my bra, squeezing a breast aching for his touch. It was a touch of fire, spreading from his hands and outward until I was burning with need and want. All the while, he relentlessly attacked my neck, shoulders, ears, and jaw; sucking, licking, nipping until he was satisfied and moved onto the next patch of skin. It wouldn't be a surprise if a mass of bruises appear the next day.

My back arched, pushing my chest forward and my backside harder into the bulge that formed during the reading. The arm around my torso grew tighter and his bite became harsher.

"Keep reading." His voice was lower, huskier than before.

"_Blunt fingers skittered across my skin, dipping ever lower until they reached the apex of my thighs. My breath quickened in anticipation and my legs parted, inviting. When his fingers slipped into my folds, I moaned in relief. With expert fingers he circled my pearl, teasing and stroking until I was begging him. I whimpered when he finally slipped his finger int_—ssssssst!"

I hissed and dug my nails into the arm around my middle as his other hand moved in my pants. The heel of his palm pressed against my clitoris, circling, sliding, pressing while his finger moved in and out of me.

"You're so wet," Paul growled, slipping another finger into me. "Keep reading."

"We'll make our own story," I gasped, my hips thrusting against his hand unabashedly. I turned my head, catching his lips in a deep kiss. The novel fell from my hands as I drew Paul's tongue into my mouth, sucking and gently biting.

Climax came almost immediately when Paul chose to pinch my nipple. Tingles started at my groin before my muscles clenched. Then the ripple of pleasure spread through my body until I sighed into the kiss. It was a lazy orgasm: small and slow, a preview of what's to come.

I pulled away from the kiss, staring into eyes lightened by desire.

"Bedroom! Now!"

"Your wish, my command." Paul's smile could only be described as wolfish. The next second, he had me over his shoulder as we moved upstairs to my bedroom. I did get a wonderful view of Paul's backside; firm and round, so tempting that I took a bite. He responded with a pinch against my derriere.

He threw me onto my bed and slammed the door close. The lock clicked shut and he started stalking towards me. The look in his eyes was hungry, ravenous, single-minded and they were focused on me. He crawled across the bed as I retreated until my back was pressed against the headboard. Our faces were centimeters apart before he dropped his head and kissed my cleavage. My hands rubbed his broad shoulders and down either side of his spine, feeling the powerful muscles at work. When he freed my breasts, he quickly suckled one pebbled nipple. I almost jumped at the sudden heat and moistness of his mouth. He switched to the other breasts, sucking, laving and occasionally gnawing, just enough to keep that dangerous hint.

While he was busy with my chest, his hands rolled down my pants and underwear until I was naked under him. When he came back up for a kiss I pressed my body against him, feeling the cotton-softness of his worn denim against my groin and thighs and the scrape of his wife-beater against my nipples.

"Clothes, OFF!" I ordered, pulling at his shirt. Paul chuckled and it sent a _zing_ through me. With a show of strength, I rolled us over until I straddled his hips. His eyes showed surprised before they were clouded by pleasure as I nibbled his jaw, down the strong column of his throat, across the wings of his collarbone. My fingers fluttered along the grooves of his abdominal muscles while I teased the flat nipples with my tongue.

I fingered the waist of his denim before undoing the button, rocking my body lightly against his bulge. I tasted the saltiness of his skin along his stomach. There was really nothing soft or squishy about Paul. He was steely muscle and burnished skin, power and brute strength coiled into every muscle fiber. Following the borders of major muscle groups with my tongue, I named each structure as I traveled lower.

"Linea alba," I said against his skin, licking down the middle line that divided his eight-pack. I stopped when I reached the open button and look up his body. I rested my chin against my hand. "Where were you when I took my anatomy class?"

"Ava, you're asking me now?" he asked, incredulous. "That's cruel," he whimpered.

"Iliac furrow," I laughed before kissing the v-shape groove leading into his pants. His erection sprang up as I pulled his pants down. That put my fears of steroids aside as I watch his phallus bob upright, veering slightly towards his left. "You have an adorable penis!"

Paul's head lifted, looking down at me with an indignant frown, "Adorable? My dick isn't adorable!"

I stifled my amusement. "Sorry. It's an awe-inspiring penis." I drew my nails lightly against the inside of his thighs, feeling them tighten and harden. My fingers ghosted over the sensitive scrotum and it twitched. Gently squeezing the base of his shaft with one hand, I followed the line that bisected the underside of his penis. "Penile raphe," I whispered, slowly tickling along the line as he groaned. His fists shook beside his body. I lowered my head, swirling the tip of his phallus.

"Oh fuck!"

"In a minute." I sucked against the tip of him, paying attention to the frenulum on the underside with my tongue. There was really no point in trying to pleasure his whole phallus when most nerve endings are at the tip. All the while, my fingers never ceased the rhythmic stroking on the shaft. One of his large hands shook as he lifted the hair away from my face, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. I looked up, eyes meeting his across the line of his body. I took pleasure in watching his body tighten, his face grimace with concentration and his hands shaking when I brushed my teeth against the tip of him.

He lifted my head away from him as he took several deep breaths. Pulling me up, he hugged me to him, our bodies in contact from lips to toe.

"Minute up," he growled, his lower body pressing into me.

My breathing hitched, feeling he pressure of him against the center of me. Common sense and habit suddenly forced their way out of the fog. "Paul, condom?"

He swore under his breath, too quick and low for me to catch. "Wallet."

I scrambled off him, the loss of his heat extremely noticeable when I was half over the edge of the bed rummaging through his discarded denim. "Eureka! Eep!"

I was suddenly beneath him, his weight bearing down on me, the ache from my bottom fading. "You slapped me!"

He smirked, show-casing teeth. "If you're gonna offer up your plump ass like that, you should be prepared for the consequences." Plucking the condom from my hand, he tore into it and had it on in one quick movement. Butterscotch eyes bore into mine, unabashed desire evident, need, hunger, urgency, a promise of unknown pleasure. Yet, above all those was a question.

My legs wrapped around his waist, locking my ankles against the small of his back. The question was answered.

He was in me, filling me, in one hard stroke. My back left the bed then bounced down.

"Damn, you're tight," he groaned against my shoulder.

I couldn't even respond. It was a single-minded goal, I just wanted him to move. He pulled out, almost all the way out, before he slammed into me again and again. Paul checked his angle so each thrust and pull rubbed against my button, shooting pleasure through my body. He was relentless and vigorous, fingers holding and directing my hips.

He pistoned in and out, stoking, building, pushing me so close; body rubbing, perspiring. Voices keening, moaning, grunting, sighing. At some point, his movements weren't just rhythmic anymore but housed a driving purpose. Each thrust pressed against my cervix, stroking that spot in my walls until I was finally there.

I moaned, grasping his buttocks and arching, writhing, falling, dying. Pleasure and euphoria battered through my body, tightening my muscles, short-circuiting my brain. Every nerve synapse blazed. I barely noticed that Paul's movements became desperate, clinging to the last shred of control while my walls gripped and massaged him.

With a last mighty shove, he stopped and growled and grunted. I felt his gluteus move under my fingers as he shuddered above me. Finally, he relaxed, a heavy, fiery, brawny blanket kissing my neck, ticking my sides. He rolled aside, pulling me against him, our legs tangling as he breathed into my hair.

"This kinda looked different in my head," he sighed.

I looked up at him. "Meaning…"

"You know: dinner, wine, candlelight."

"Really? Well, this was pretty close to what I imagined," I smiled, kissing his jaw. "You always do think with your reproductive organ more than your brain."

"I could be romantic," Paul cried indignantly. "I don't always think with my dick."

"Course not," I mollified, rubbing his stomach. I kissed his chest, just short of his nipples. I watched as his phallus swelled, becoming half-erect. "I think you have another condom in your wallet."

Paul smirked, eyes going butterscotch again. "Now who's thinking with their reproductive organ?"

**Yea...it was just easier to write something new than try to remember the next chapter. Hopefully, I can get back to the real story. Anyways, if ya like it leave a REVIEW. If you don't like it leave a REVIEW and tell me how to improve. See how this works?**


	17. Chapter 16

I think the Powers That Be hates me. A tree killed my car. Literally. A tree fell on my car.

**Chapter 16**

"No."

"I'm not gonna crash it!'

"I don't care. No"

"But—,"

"No!"

Paul pouted, sticking his lower lip forward. "You have enough money to buy another Mercedes! A bigger one, a newer one!"

"That's not the point," I glared at him. "I like this one, I _know_ this one and you're not touching it." I returned my attention back to my MacBook. We were settling in Lupine Headquarters aka Sam and Emily's house. Paul and I were the only ones in the kitchen; Emily was upstairs somewhere while Collin and Brady were finishing up their homework (again), the rest were scattered or were still on patrol.

I mentally shuddered as my thoughts passed over vampires, the perfect killing machines. My mind was still trying to comprehend that there is something indestructible in this world. It's fact: everything dies, break down, or are worn away with the centuries. It's just so…wrong, the idea that something is suspended in time; so different that Mother Nature washed her hands of them.

"So you use me to fix your car but when I want to test it you refuse me?" Paul tried again.

"I could have changed the tires myself," I told him quietly. I woke up that morning to a flat tire. The culprit was a nail but the small tendril of fear snaked its way into my thoughts and set up shop. It was too much like Zergla, even if logic and reason said there's no way he would get pass the airlines and find out where we vacationed.

"What's with Tweedledum and Tweedledee?"

My head shot up to where Leah's athletic figure strode into the kitchen, heading towards the refrigerator. "Homework," I replied.

"Come on, just five minutes," Paul whined again, ignoring her presence. "What can happen to your car in five minutes?'

"A shitload considering we're talking about you," Leah interrupted, throwing herself onto the couch with a bottle of water in her hands.

"Fuck off!" Paul snarled.

"Watch your tone," I snapped, tensing. I can't help it. I think all women has this primordial trigger in their mind that activates when they hear the enraged tone from the male species. The only problem was some women don't know how to respond to that trigger. I have spent too long volunteering at the women's shelter and saw it happen many times, too many times hearing those voices over the phone, too many times calling security to 'escort' the husband out, too many times seeing women reduced to a sack of flesh and bone.

Paul glared out the sliding glass doors into the back yard, the muscles of his jaw ticking and hardening. I restrained my sigh: this is one of the darker sides of imprinting. If I were to tell Paul to cut off his hand, I was 99.8% sure he would do it. Any negative emotion literally could not be directed at me. Real arguments were nonexistent in our relationship, whatever I wanted he gave. Imprinting left Paul wide open to be taken advantaged of. And that understanding made me study and question all my decisions, making sure I at least try to give him some remnant of control.

I took one of Paul's fists in my hands, trying to pry his fingers apart. When he loosened enough, I placed my car keys in his palm and folded his fingers over it. His face softened and his eyes went from his hand to my face then back again.

"Can you run over to the store and get some green tea?" I grumbled.

Paul grinned excitedly, like a little boy on Christmas morning. Jumping up, he kissed me one second and was gone the next. I heard muffled conversation from the next room and then a squawk of disbelief and pleading followed by the slamming of the front door. I felt my heart squeezed when tires screeched then faded.

My poor car.

"Why'd you give him your car?" Leah frowned from the couch.

"Guilt," I shrugged.

"For snapping at him?" she snorted.

"For...everything?" I shrugged. "Never mind."

Leah's eyes bore into mine. "You're guilty for being his imprint?" she scoffed.

"No, not his imprint," I replied. "Just…I don't think I can ever match the intensity of his feelings toward me."

"You probably won't ever feel the same way he feels about you," Leah shrugged. "Suck it up and get on with your life."

"I know the imprintee will be happy. It's the imprinter I'm worried about. It feels like-like he is investing his life savings while I'm just investing a paycheck into this…relationship."

"The other girls aren't thinking about it. They're so caught up in their little fairytale to notice the impact of their actions," Leah glared at the open empty air. "It's a fucked up phenomenon that wrecks two lives and poisons the rest," she said bitterly. Her eyes shone with tears. We weren't talking about me anymore. I thought it was tears of sadness until she turned to look at me, through me.

"Get the fuck out of this hellhole while you can,' she whispered. Whatever sadness was there was long gone. It was tears of frustration, anger, resentment and a familiar hopelessness. Leah, the only female wolf, was the same as those women in the shelter: battered and beaten, her own self long forgotten.

"Why can't you get out?" I asked her.

Leah seemed to snap out of her reverie and she focused her signature cold stare at me. Too bad I seem to be immune to it after her small show of vulnerability.

"Because Fate's a slut that'll spread her legs for Genetics' junk," she snarled.

Conversation, over.

Leah ignored me and I returned the same courtesy. Even when Paul came back for his shift in patrolling, Leah just glared out the screen door, lost in her own thoughts.

"She's good as new," Paul smirked, dropping the keys into my lap. "I even put gas in it."

"Good to know." I waited as Paul flopped onto the chair beside me. "So…where's my tea?"

"You were serious?"

An eerie howl cut off my response, signaling their return.

Paul jumped up. "You ok driving back?"

"I have gotten myself home before you appeared in my life," I laughed.

"Leave the back door open for me? Ma got a new novel…and this one's in the rainforest," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"No, I actually want to sleep tonight," I replied, unsuccessful in hiding my blush.

"You're mean."

"Resolve it manually. I'm sure you've been taking care of it before I appeared."

Paul flinched and tried to hide it by dropping a kiss on my forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow." With that, he bounded out into the backyard and disappeared into the woods. Leah followed sedately.

She stopped, turning to face me. "He use to take care of it with any available female in La Push," she said maliciously.

I winced, at her biting tone that delivered that extremely candid fact. "The past is the past, we can't change it. We can only move forward," I told her blandly, trying to hide the stab of jealousy. Even though I knew Paul has past romantic interests, it was another thing to be slapped in the face with it.

"Hurts doesn't it?" she said airily, triumph evident in her voice.

Gazing at her back, I can't help the pity welling up in me. I try to stifle it knowing it was unwelcome. "I will never know your pain, Leah, no one will, no matter how hard you try," I told her. Leah froze with her body halfway out into the backyard. "But if you want to move forward, I'll do what I can to help."

Leah disappeared into the night, leaving me alone.

I drove back to Forks, heavier in mind than I wanted. Something about Leah bothered me. She was an oxymoron personified, the strength and speed of a predator but a helpless victim. Strong but powerless, free but caged, courageous but scared. She has the means to save herself, to rise above whatever pain she's feeling yet she allowed herself to be bound by some mystical force, some quixotic sense of duty to suffer day after day after day.

Then when I finally set aside Leah's hostility, anxiety over my flat tire kept me from falling asleep. Tossing and turning for a few hours didn't result in anything so I ended up surfing the web in the kitchen with a quart of tea (caffeine free). Occasionally glancing out the window and raising the mug to my lips, I choked on tea when I found a face looking back in.

Almost hacking out a lung to clear my airway of fluid, I glanced at the clock. I got up to open the door, wheezing for air.

"Leah? What are doing at 4:27 in the morning?" I whispered, ushering her in.

Leah was dressed in a grass stained t-shirt and basketball shorts. There were branches and leaves in her short, inky hair. However, nothing could hide the defiant glimmer in her eyes, tinged with a hint of desperation…and something. She stepped into the kitchen, into the fluorescent light.

"I want to move forward," her voice soft, a slight waver. Leah took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. "I want to move forward," she repeated, louder, surer. That something…conviction. "I want what was taken from me. I want my life."

I could only stand and stare. It was startling the physical changes that occur when the psychological mindset is different. Looking at Leah now, I can see the woman she could have been, should have been.

"Have a seat, I'll make some tea."

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